Special Events – Page 19 – Where Vivid Narratives Live

Halloween Celebration 2015

Unofficially, my Halloween celebration started on a Wednesday, a few days before my favorite holiday of the year. A local library invited the Austin Writers Roulette to perform in their monthly reading. Since I usually dress up to match the roulette theme, I had a myriad of costume choices since this occasion had no theme.

Three other authors joined me for the event. In a way, it was easier to produce this show since we’d all written bios, didn’t have to set up chairs and we’d all arrived by thirty minutes to showtime. The librarian who’d contacted me about this event was amazed. I told him I always asked my artists to arrive an hour before the event just so we could start on time. Besides, when a group of talented, creative people gather together, the quality of the conversation is so rich. We took our traditional group picture well before the show started.

Donna Dechen Birdwell opened the show, reading an excerpt from her speculative fiction, Way of the Serpent.

Mackenzie Irick Milks read a short fictional piece about a granddaughter returning to the islands for her grandfather’s funeral only to learn the sordid details about his life.

Stephanie Webb shared instances of her personal challenges of being a well-educated black woman marginalized in Austin.

I read three excerpts from my racy first novel, Tribe of One, about a single black women looking for love while still being a smart woman about the pursuit. One of the excerpts was about a one-night stand on Halloween and another was about the infamous “vibrator research” chapter. After reading that last one, I broke the news to the audience: the actual vibrator the main character decided to buy didn’t exist.

Afterwards, we moseyed across the street to eat dinner. Fortunately, the restaurant offered 1/2 price bottles of wine! The intellectual conversation, which had begun before the show, continued. This was the kind of occasion I always say I’d like to participate more in, but never seem to organize. I’m so glad it just happened.

Truly a feast befitting of a queen: a well-seasoned and composed salmon sandwich on fresh bread with a side of potato salad.

Donna couldn’t resist wearing the Cleopatra headdress!

A few days later, I dressed up as “Soul Sistah #9” to attend a 70s pot luck and disco party. I borrowed a friend’s larger-than-life Afro wig and was happy to see the hostess and her husband were both sporting Afro wigs as well.

This red sofa had my name all over it; so this shot was inevitable.

Since I arrived so early, due to the intermittent heavy rains, which did not delay me much, I entertained myself by taking pictures of the decor.

The party hosts had a room, separate from their house, dedicated to the 70s.

In addition to vinyl, concert posters of my musical heroes decorated the room and doors.

Looking at these artists, I wondered how many of the new entertainers today will enjoy such name recognition longevity.

They inspired me since, despite their success, they continued pursuing their passion.

One partygoer modified a pair of pants with some 70s style flair. We traded costuming stories. Come to find out, she’d taught outside the States. I wondered if there was some connection between international teaching and costuming.

Speaking of costuming, we were all so happy John Travolta’s iconic “Saturday Night Fever” suit was in the house.

Despite the torrential rains and flash floods caused by tornado watch conditions, many of us still turned out to share soul food 70s style. This meetup group has been growing in both size and creativity when it comes to its themes.

After everyone finished eating, “we” (meaning other people while I sat and watched) moved the tables and chairs to the side to clear the dance floor.

How wonderful was singing and dancing to every song that played!

The only challenge was trying to remember all the 70s style dances. No one knew how to do the hustle. I kept wishing my two older sisters had been there. They had been club-going teenagers during the 70s.

As if this night couldn’t get any better, there were three contests: best costume, best dancer and best dish.

We were all awarded with stereotypical 70s gifts: an ol’ school electronic football game, Simon and a lava lamp!

The following evening, one of my friends knocked on my door just as the first bowl of curried chicken and rice had completed warming up in the microwave. I immediately warmed up a bowl for her and made our white wine sangria. Actually, I’d chopped up the fruit and froze it hours prior; so they were like fruity ice cubes.

We arrived downtown prior to all the craziness–even too early to enter the Zombie Ball, our final party destination. While we waited for another friend to join us, we chilled out at a nearby restaurant.

Once she arrived, we saw we were wearing the same Pixie eyelashes.

We chalked it up to a female capoeirista thing.

The first thing we did was take a couple of souvenir group pictures.

The emcees dressed as “Salt N Pepper” to honor the headliners–although they were standing in the wrong order initially.

The most impressive female burlesque dancer of the night had an elaborate headdress.

At one point during her routine, she removed one of her plastic snakes.

Except this one was LIVE!

I’m so glad she didn’t get at all freaky with that snake. As she danced, I thought about how snakes were the ancient symbol of female sexuality.

A funk band that sounded and dressed as outlandish as Parliament and George Clinton performed. They had their own dramatic dancers.

My friends and I went outside to sit down. A woman approached me and gave me a ticket to be part of the women’s costume contest. For the first time since I’ve been attending the Zombie Ball, my poor little country mouse costume looked good enough to compete! I truly didn’t care whether I won.

I enjoyed getting future costuming tips, especially from this “Voodoo Queen” who was a finalist last year. As a matter of fact, the voting came between her and another woman who had a guy chained to her as a gimp slave–she (and he) won.

I didn’t notice how gruesome this woman’s costume was until I got up close and saw the collar was made to look like torn flesh. Yet, she, like me, didn’t really know how to hype the crowd to sell our costume. I rely so much on emoting my words.

Zipper-faced zombie had applied an actual zipper in realistic fashion. Just the kind of make up costuming that I haven’t explored yet.

Even wolf in sheep’s clothing had awesome costume makeup.

Zombie Marie Antoinette with Glinda the Good Witch behind her both were selected since they had very high headdresses–Voodoo Queen, who is a professional costume designer, clued me into the fact that people correlate “quality” with the height of a headdress.

In all the Zombie Balls I’ve attended, they never once had a male burlesque dancer.

And a black one at that!

I’m guessing this guy performed since Salt N Pepa were the headliners.

(Author’s Note: That’s his HAND between his legs!)

The dancing aerial group followed his performance.

I loved their little zombie sequence. They had to do the beginning over again since the music failed the first go around. Better a music fail rather than an equipment fail!

Every time I see aerial dancers, I tell myself the same lie: I’m going to take a few classes, knowing full well I don’t like pain. Nonetheless, maybe once yoga heals my hips…hmm, sounds like I’m lying again.

Then, we, the audience, went back in time 30 years and enjoyed an 80s styled concert.

They even gave us a hip-hop quiz by playing the first part of an 80s song, abruptly turning off the music and allowing the audience to belt out the lyrics.

By the end of the night, we electric boogalooed out of there.

Absolutely fantastic way to end a three-day Halloween celebration.

Esquina Fundraiser 2015

One of the best things about having an outgoing personality is my ability to make friends wherever I show up. I’d arrived at the venue relatively early just to get a good parking space. I ended up getting a good table as well. However, none of the friends I’d hoped to invite to sit with me showed up. All was not a loss. I simply made new friends.

We’d all taken dance lessons at Esquina at one point or another. So, we all had that much in common. Beyond that, most of us worked for nonprofits. Most importantly, they all came set with plenty of red wine to share. How could we not become fast friends–at least for the night?

Beyond wine-induced happiness, we all were surrounded by a festive mood, good live and recorded music and lots of dancing. We warmed up with a little tango, but the party really came alive when the salsa/cumbia band started playing.

I’ve often regarded tango as a high-brow dance whereas salsa and cumbia were more for the ordinary folk. Plus, the rules change. Women don’t have to wait to be asked to dance like tango. I readily pounced on the opportunity to ask male friends to dance and made new dance partner friends as well.

Free Museum Day 2015

Since “free” continues to be my favorite price, I visited three museums for Austin’s annual free museum day. Initially, I was disappointed a temporary installation had not arrived at the first museum. Nonetheless, I went upstairs and this sign rewarded my efforts. A few months ago, I declared myself an adult fairy tale writer. Since then, I’ve been reading several critical works about the fairy tale structure, including my current thick book, which is Maria Tatar’s annotated collection of the Grimm Brothers’ fairy tales. My “discovery” of this haunting collection felt like the fairies rewarding me for faithfully climbing all those stairs despite my initial disappointment.

I was the resident expert, giving a brief summary of some of the lesser known fairy tales that were represented such as “Six Swans.” Catacorner to the first museum I’d visited was my second stop. One vendor’s table had an interactive artists’ board. They invited the public to write our favorite Austin thing on a rectangular swatch of cloth with a fabric pen and/or permanent marker. I used a silvery pen on my chosen swatch, adding my creation to the board. Then I toured the temporary exhibit about a failed French colony off the Texas Gulf coast.

Even though I enjoyed hearing the story of the La Belle via the short video lesson, my perfectionist thoughts about the unreadable Austin Writers Roulette sign preoccupied me. I finished viewing the special exhibits room then added more to my AWR sign. I’ll just see if that increases my audience.

At my third and final museum visit, I’d just missed the drumming, but still enjoyed the installation, which consisted mostly of broken tile mosaics on a box with some intact square tiles that had been painted on. The artist’s other works were wall-sized pieces, depicting racially charged scenes, involving law enforcement, minority males and white supremacy.

In another part of the museum, teens who had entered or who were at high-risk of entering the system were given the opportunity to write poetry, create songs, take pictures and make paintings to bring their narrative to the public. Juxtaposed with those creative works were annotated statistical facts about marginalized youth who had a higher probability of entering the system rather than a wraparound service during their school years.

All in all, I felt the day just reconfirmed my chosen path of combining my art with teaching.

45th Labor Day Birthday Celebration

Very early in the morning on Labor Day 1970 in Okinawa, Japan, Velma Roberson woke up and alerted her husband, Karl, that their third (and who turned out to be last) baby was coming. Rushing to the hospital, they saw the MPs (military police) and stopped to ask them for an escort to the hospital.

Sirens blaring, they arrived at the military hospital in record time where nurses waited with a wheelchair for Velma. About 30 minutes later at 5:56 AM, Velma birthed Teresa Yvonne, three days before her own 30th birthday.And the adventure continues!

Saturday: Dinner & A Play

My mother sent me a small package with a long black dress and a fancy colorful top a few days before my 45th birthday. Wonderful! Now I didn’t have to decide what to wear for two out of three days of my long weekend birthday celebration. Of course, I wore my tiara all three days. On the first night of celebration, I invited friends to meet me at a small theatre/bar complex, which rented space to a most delicious Italian food trailer.

Don’t let the paper plate and plastic cutlery fool you: this food was ridiculous! I braved the “coddled” egg. The creaminess of a raw egg made risking salmonella worth it.

Two friends met for dinner and of all things we could have talked about during this festive occasion, I chose to regale them with some factoids I learned from Orlando Patterson’s Slavery and Social Death. Perhaps the greatest unknown fact to me was that the British carried over 15,000 American slaves back with them when they lost the revolution since they’d promised them freedom for fighting with the red coats.

Another friend showed up, but only for the one-women show. Even though she’d missed dinner, she bought me a second goblet of Malbec. I’m not sure if the venue always pour that much or we were fortunate to have a heavy-handed bartender that particular night, but I had no complaints!

We waited after the show, to congratulate the one-woman performer herself, who’d blown us all away. Granted, she’s the three time national female slam poet. I informed my friends this would be the last time we’d be lucky to see her perform for a mere $10.

Of course, I had to take a picture with the artist herself. I want the world to know I knew her before they did! I congratulated her for much deserved success. It’s challenging enough to live through what she had and another thing to invite family, friends and strangers in to witness a poetic summary of it.

Sunday: Open Mic Night

Several of my poet friends participate in a Sunday open mic from 7:30 to 10 PM. One friend in particular, carries a small bag of reading glasses. I told him I was officially ready for my first pair of “cheater readers,” as my latest eye doctor called them.

Although both pairs made the print world easier to read, I thought these were less birth control looking than the other pair. The best part was these fit comfortably over my regular glasses when my eyes tire at home.

I certainly didn’t need corrective lenses to see this gorgeous meat trio pizza and glass of Malbec. Yet another Italian dish for the second celebration of my birthday.

This young singer dedicated a Beyonce song to me.

Then another poet friend and the open mic hosts led the room in singing “Happy Birthday” to me. The hilarious part came when only 5 people knew my name. The hosts had been referring to me as “Birthday Princess” the whole time up to that point.

Another friend split the infamous “ying-yang” cake with me, which was a chocolate-rich and creamy dessert one should only eat once a year.

Wearing my princess tiara and mother-gifted girlie top, I read one of my infamous classics: “How Men Blow Fellatio.”

Afterwards, I back led another poet through a slow dance while a saxophonist played.

Monday: Detox & Retox

I only had three brave friends who said they’d detox with me on Labor Day at the free 10 AM bikram yoga class prior to brunch. Merely one friend had arrived by the time we posed with the instructor for a “before” picture.

However, everyone was present for the “after” picture.

Joined by two more friends, a fabulous all-you-care-to eat buffet and the most impressive collection of tequilas, we had a terrific time retoxing.

We started with a mimosa, two of which, came with our buffet. I’d eaten brunch here several times before, but I’d never known there was an option of three fruity flavors: orange, cranberry and pineapple. I started out with pineapple and followed up with cranberry.

One friend, who arrived by bus so she could fully enjoy the whole retox experience, ordered a tequila flight.

I’d saved a tiny bit of room for dessert: a churro, ice cream and cherry cobbler.

After dessert, our server asked me if I liked “sweet” and “chocolate.” Of course I answered “yes” to both questions. Moments later, she brought out a chocolate infused tequila. At that point, my friends sang “Happy Birthday.”

One friend followed up with Stevie Wonder’s version of “Happy Birthday;” so I chair danced to it.

Finally, I got to sip my drink. That’s right, sip! I’d lived in Mexico for three years and never once saw a Mexican shoot tequila. They sipped and enjoyed their drink like cultured people. (I love how the guy in the background does not look the least impressed.)

The Aftermath

I’d written this message on my white board, alerting my Adult Basic Education students to the fact that school was closed on Monday. Although most people assumed Labor Day had given us the long weekend, my students were privy to the real deal. When I returned to school on Tuesday, I had a post birthday wish. As much as I love having a day off, the rest of the week was thrown off. Thank goodness the weekend wasn’t too far away.

Water Hiccup

The uncontrollable spray of water from a partially buried pipe behind the leasing office in my apartment complex foreshadowed the water shutoff in my apartment. Nonetheless, I made no effort to save any water in large pots. Instead, I brooded about how much more I’d have to pay for water in October.

Unbelievable. I used to pay a mere 4 cents/month for water. Then, it jumped to $11 and has been increasing every month. I cannot remember the barely logical explanation the leasing agent told me about the city charging us for some water emergency/crisis/overhaul ten years back, which was when I used to live in Mexico. Close enough, I guess. All I know is the situation hasn’t been remedied. For September, I get to pay nearly $20 for water. Lord only knows how much it will be for October.

Still stewing in my juices, I entered the kitchen to rinse out my wine glass. A metallic choking sound of pipes delivering no water gushed forth. I’d consumed 2 1/2 glasses of wine and knew I was in no shape, mentally or physically, to make the short drive to the grocery store to buy a large container of water. I used to keep such a container on hand until a few months ago when the damn thing developed a slow leak since I hadn’t had cause to use it.

In lieu of purchasing water, I brainstormed an alternative. Ice. With nothing to lose, I filled two drinking glasses and a plastic 5-cup measuring cup with ice cubes. I set the glasses on the counter, figuring I’d be thirsty once they melted. I placed the measuring cup in the microwave. For the record, I knew it wouldn’t work, but still I needed to reconfirm that ice cubes don’t melt in a microwave. What melts is the substance the ice cubes are submerged in, which in turn melts the cubes, but not the microwavable container itself.

I carried the ice cube-filled measuring cup to the bathroom. After using the toilet, but not flushing (if it’s yellow, let it mellow; if it’s brown, flush it down), I pumped some liquid soap into the palm of one hand, picked up an ice cube with the other hand and preceded to wash. Great idea except I used far too much soap. The rubbing friction helped melt the ice, but both the ice and soap made the effort nearly impossible due to the slipperiness. A few minutes after the fact, the water came on. My hands were already clean, but sore from scrubbing them with ice.

A few nights later, one of my downstairs neighbors knocked frantically on my door. A stream of water poured into her apartment via the bathroom. I let her in to witness no water ran or leaked from my bathroom. After she left, I filled up several pots with water.

Days afterwards, very little hot water flowed. I turned the knob off, but a thin stream still trickled out. I had to turn off the water completely from underneath the sink. Fortunately, I went to work a few hours later. All was restored to normal once I returned from work.

Nonetheless, I feel there’s some water issue just percolating. Once again, I probably won’t have any water stored up for the occasion.

Abstract Art Opening 2015

One of my favorite local art galleries had an opening reception on a day I actually had nothing planned. Disregarding my first impulse to go alone, I turned this into a meetup outing. Although four other people were supposed to join me, I knew to expect just half of them. I was rather impressed that the two who didn’t show up actually changed their reservations ahead of time.

I arrived at the venue much earlier than necessary. I like to avoid being a hypocrite. When hosts are late and/or not visible when members arrive, a lot of confusion and bad vibes start off the night. The two women who made it had no trouble finding me since I messaged I’d wear a fuschia dress and would probably be the only black woman with dreads.

I do not understand abstract paintings although I like bright colors, especially red and purple.Yet how does one tell a good abstract from a bad abstract? Is it purely emotional response when you first look at the painting?

Fortunately, one of the featured artists was present to answer questions. I asked him a tough one right off the back. “How does one understand this genre?” He smiled and stated that the way he understands it is to start painting and continue until he considers a canvas “successful.” He admitted that most of his aren’t, but he either starts all over by painting over the failures on getting a fresh canvas.

Then he gave an intriguing response about how every painting is a conversation. When I asked him if he remembered what he was thinking or how he was feeling while working on the painting I snapped his picture with, he said no.

In the back corner, past all of my beloved Dr. Seuss art, lay a treasure trove of bright, texturized acrylic paintings. Of course I loved all the red and flow, which made me readily forgive it was acrylic. Not my preferred medium to paint in, but I can certainly appreciate the over-the-top talent of the artist.

Truly, what landscape art should be: bold, thought-provoking, narrative-inspiring.

I normally don’t spend too much time looking in the movie poster section, but here’s one of my all-time favorite actors on Spanish translated poster.

Once we toured the entire gallery, we didn’t want the conversation to end. We all hopped into our separate cars, and met up at a string of little restaurants and coffee shops which shared a back patio. Believe it or not, the heat and humidity actually allowed us to enjoy the moment.

Retreat 2015

I’ve never worked for a school, business or organization that ever sprung for a retreat until now. Of course, the morning consisted of a series of workshops, which actually flowed by rather quickly. The first one was a 4-minute powerpoint presentation by a representative from each of the programs in our coalition.The assistant program director with whom I work went first and ended exactly at the 4-minute mark with the video that I successfully embedded.

Yet my second favorite presenter passed around a plastic bag, essentially representing “a mixed bag of tricks.” She invited us to pick out whatever we wanted. I liberated a small canister of hot pink clay and immediately started rolling it in my palms to soften it up. As I worked the clay over, I reminisced about the days when I taught preschool and then molded the clay into a frog’s head just like I used to do back in the day.

Then the executive director reviewed employee survey feedback about how the organization was doing 6 months after the merger. Most of the cherry-picked responses were positive, including one of my quotes.

Next, a motivation expert had us go through several motivation driver cards and methodically pick out six of them. Once we were done, he asked us to kick out one card, then order the remaining five with the most important card on top. “Autonomy” topped my list since it represented of the totality of everything I want out of life. The rest fleshed out my autonomous nature.

Ending exactly on time, we all made haste to a marina on Lake Travis–about an hour away. Totally worth it! This would be the closest to a beach I’d see this summer.

I’m glad that in my middle-agehood, I wear sensible shoes since the incline was no joke with trip-enhancing steep steps and loose gravel.

Our party boat was a double decker.

Once the boat started moving and we finished eating, most of us went above deck.

I’d never been out on Lake Travis before. Friday was the only day predicted to rain–only 20%. Fortunately for us, the odds were in our favor.

This past Independence Day, I discovered the hard way I didn’t have a bee sting allergy. I blogged about how I still retained a healthy respect for bees and would continue using gentle, nonaggressive tactics to deal with them.

Since I put that out into the universe, I was not surprised when a coworker warned me I had a bee crawling on my neck. I passed her my phone so she could take a picture. As she took pictures, she marveled at how calm I was, all the while panicking I’d be stung. The bee traveled along my neck, inches above my recent bee sting, behind and around my ear, which tickled, but I resisted.

By this time, another coworker who sat on my right saw the bee walking along my scalp then upon my locks. I handed him my phone. At this point, I asked him to blow on the bee in order to get rid of it.

Apparently the bee had a good toe hold into my locks. Moments later, the bee flew away, which was the best scenario since I’d thought it would drown once I slid into the lake.

We docked in a beautiful area, but had to wait a few tantalizing minutes before the slide was ready.

This picture does not exaggerate the steepness of the slide. I accelerated into the lake as if on a roller coaster. I’d slid down with a noodle around my shoulders, which served me well in the lake. Although I can swim, floating was so much better.

Several coworkers chose to float and drink. We still got our exercise, thanks to the current. Since we all drifted out at the same rate, we didn’t notice how far we’d floated away from the boat until we looked.Everyone noted how tiring swimming was. Funny how kids never comment on such things! I was happy to continue my Friday tradition of wearing my bathing suit under my regular clothes. Yet, we could have left an hour sooner since I truly jonesed for a nap. The smile shone here was absolutely genuine–we were headed back ashore.

Maya’s Visit

Every time one of my nieces and nephews turns 16, he or she spends a week with me; so, Maya’s turn was up this summer. I asked her parents to fly her out around the Fourth of July since I’d automatically have Friday off. Maya arrived midday on a Tuesday and left way too early in the morning the following Tuesday. In between time, we had as much fun as we could squeeze in.

On the day she arrived, I’d planned to take her to a poetry slam and treat her to the Greek food trailer just outside the theatre since she’d not tried much Greek food, other than hummus and pita bread. Also, I wanted her to taste a little of the Austin food trailer culture. The first glitch in the plan kicked in when I saw a tight knit of outdoor tables and chairs where the trailer used to be. When we walked into the nearby restaurant, which had collaborated with the Greek food trailer, the bartender informed us that they’d moved a week or two ago.

We ended up walking to a nearby Tex-Mex restaurant and sharing two entrees. Even with the wait for a table and a newbie server (only the second black male server I’ve had in 6 years of living in Austin!), we made it to the poetry slam on time. Yet, this particular slam was a special event: Team Slam Poetry. I’d never witnessed this before and Maya had never heard of this genre of poetry. We were both in for a treat.

The next glitch arose once we entered the theatre. Not an empty seat to be found. Plus, there were buckets and rags arranged in strategic spots on the floor to capture the leaking water. Not daring to stand the whole time, I returned to the car to retrieve two lawn chairs. We set the chairs in an “empty” spot in the middle of the audience in front of the stage. The only reason no one was sitting there was the leaks. Yet, Maya and I helped prove that black people aren’t made of sugar after all. Besides, the dripping lessened as the show unfolded. The sheer entertainment value of the event distracted us from being dripped on.

For her first full day, we drove out to Mt. Bonnell, the highest point in Austin at a mere 785 feet, in the morning before the heat turned up.

The cloud play enveloped Austin in a mythical haze.

Thanks to the continued intermittent heavy rains, the verdant foliage framed the voluminous water beautifully.

At the end of our hike, we came across the trailhead sign. By approaching the hike from the end, we actually got a little more of an adventure than we would have by using the stairs.

Yet those stairs were the stuff that inspired step aerobics and stair masters!

Our heart beat out of our chest and sweat poured walking up and down those stairs–unlike any other part of walking along the trail.

After working up such an appetite, we had lunch at one of my favorite barbecue places. I let our server know that Maya was an out-of-towner and she got the full welcome, including a sampling of the most popular items.

I’d texted her mother some pictures of our hike, thinking that we’d be spared the “Mommy call,” but once I’d texted her a picture of Maya biting into an extra moist brisket sandwich, she couldn’t resist calling!

After stuffing ourselves with brisket, creamed corn and banana pudding, the latter my niece actually thought would be as good as Nana’s (my mother’s), we strolled around Zilker Park.

Next morning, I transformed the leftover bread from Rudy’s into French toast, which I garnished with blueberries, strawberries and red apple slices.

Maya didn’t want a side of brisket like me–she’s still got a lot to learn!

On Friday “we” went swimming. (Read: I swam a mile while she sat poolside reading a book except for a brief moment of treading water with me in the deep end.)

Then we regrouped, binge-watched “Scandal” until it was time to see “Magic Mike XXL,” the perfect aunt-niece movie! I texted her mother this picture just before we both turned off our phones. Although the audience was allowed to be “rowdy” during the stripping scenes, I was one of the few hooting and hollering. Just goes to show how that theatre had done a terrific job with its “no talking or texting or you’ll be kicked out” policy.

Proving once again that selfies are overrated, we slowly baked in the Saturday morning sun, attempting to get this shot. At least she looks good. I’d never visited the LBJ library before. Fourth of July was one of its free admission days. I expected huge crowds, but we were the early birds around noontime.

I didn’t realize the temporary exhibit would be The Beatles. This display showed a typical teenage girl’s bedroom, circa 1964.

Against her better judgment, Maya humored me for an Abbey Road pose.

She gladly humored me, sitting in the front of the bus, for a desegregation pose in another part of the LBJ museum. Among all of his accomplishments, LBJ signed the Civil Rights Act of 1964. Seeing the artifacts and reading this part of history made me proud of how far we’ve come in our 150 years of emancipation and 239 years of liberty.

I’m not into cars, but this classic limo was an exception, especially at this angle, showing the gift shop visitors must pass through in order to leave the museum. Ever since I read The Design of Everyday Things, I no longer have a blind eye to such detail.

I’d debated taking Maya to a nearby park to watch fireworks, but we went to a poetry potluck instead, which featured artists who were veterans. For the first time ever, I heard the Declaration of Independence read aloud in its entirety. This was Maya’s first time hearing me read one of my pieces live. At least we saw some fireworks on the drive back home–some dangerously close to the street, prompting us to roll up our windows.

On Sunday, Maya survived her first bikram yoga class. She’d done all the postures with me before, but never in the actual setting. We brunched at TNT afterwards, then headed down to S. Congress Street.

I showed Maya her namesake store.

I asked one of the saleswomen if there were discounts for girls named “Maya,” which was apparently a common question. (The answer’s no.)

Later that night, I took Maya to her third poetry event. This was a pure open mic, which is always an interesting mixed bag of tricks, bombs and jewels throughout the night. The biggest dud turned out to be a very unfunny comedian, who’d approached one of my friends for pot prior to the show. Maya and I figured it must be the drugs that puts him in the mood to actually tell funny jokes.

Maya couldn’t believe how sore she was the next day after yoga. The best way to deal with soreness is more exercise! We attended a beginner’s capoeira class. Again, she’d done some moves with me before, but this was her first class. She picked up on the sequences much faster than I had in my first capoeira class.

I partnered with her the whole time since I didn’t trust the other students to spar with her. After all, sparring was how I broke my ankle nearly two years ago, which required 6 metal pins.

Even though I no longer train capoeira, I still knew some of the students and enjoyed exposing Maya to this Brazilian martial arts and music.After class, Maya told me she hadn’t done any strenuous exercise like this since November! I didn’t feel too sorry for her. She is 16, after all.

Far too early the next morning, I drove my little niece to the airport. She’d enjoyed herself, but was happy to catch up on her sleep and escape the Texas heat and humidity.

Handmade Laundry Bag

Last Memorial Day weekend, we entered the fifth straight week of heavy rains, flooding and tornado watches. What a wonderful opportunity to craft!

Graduation season was right around the corner. I researched popular items to give a high school graduate and jumped on the opportunity to make personalized laundry bag for my niece. The plot thickened when I looked up the university she’ll attend in the fall and discovered the school colors were navy blue and white. I just so happened to have two navy blue full-size fitted sheets simply taking up space in my closet. Perfect!

Then I researched how to make a laundry bag. Everything I saw used a pillow case, which would have been tremendously easier–just my luck. Nonetheless, I modified the instructions to suit half a full-sized fitted sheet, bought two types of ribbon to make the draw string and three letter appliqués to iron on her initials. (Here’s one point where I saved myself a lot of time and trouble. I originally wanted to use more fabric I had in my closet to spell out her first name and sew them on. I’m so glad I let that marinate!)

Since I didn’t own a sewing machine, but had a tremendous amount of time during that flooded-out Memorial Weekend, I divided the effort among all four days. Friday, I cut and meticulously pinned the sheet. Saturday, I backstitched the side and bottom of the sheet, forming a bag. Sunday, I pinned the broad, transparent ribbon three inches from the top. Then I sewed the sides of the ribbon, leaving the ends open to form a canal for the looped, narrower ribbon. Monday, I fed the narrow ribbon through the canal with the help of a safety pin and used a silver cord at both ends to help retrieve it when it would be inevitably “swallowed.” Finally, I ironed on the letters–twice. The first time I forgot to take of the backing in order to expose the adhesive.

Tuesday morning, I stuffed it with three pillows and several large pieces of cloth to test it out and take a picture. Unbelievable how much room remained for more dirty laundry. This is a college student’s dream: to delay doing laundry until no clean underwear remains!

Juneteenth 2015

For a third year in a row, I reprised my role as newly emancipated slave, Mattie Gilmore. I always stress over the few lines I have to memorize, but this third time was truly a charm. The words flowed from my mouth like sacred enlightened water. I was joined by three other actors. We all received blurbs from “SLAVE NARRATIVES: A Folk History of Slavery in the United States From Interviews with Former Slaves.”(Read the Texas chapter here.)

I loved my grandma-from-little-red-ridinghood look, complete with bonnet and apron. At one point, that bonnet slowly trapped in so much heat, I became fuzzy-headed. The other actress reminded me of how nervous I’d been my first time, but she had her excerpt, which was at least four times as long as mine, printed out and she read it to the visitors.

This guy, dressed as a soldier, insisted that his image was on the Juneteenth sign. I knew it couldn’t be, but humored him by taking his picture since that was behind the whole conversation.

In addition to vendors, character interpretations, book fair, and live stage performances, there was a dedication of Juneteenth statues in the back of the museum. Let freedom ring!