Category: Special Events

You all know the fairy tales about the good or evil queen, the good or wicked witch, the evil stepmother, the poor mother, the absent mother, the good daughter, the fair maiden, the bewitched maiden…but what about the forgotten queen?

You may not have noticed her since she never sat on an official throne. Yet you’ve heard the whispers about her. Remember that saying, “The hand that rocks the cradle, rules the world”? Ah, yes, that expression is about the forgotten queen.

She isn’t the one with the smallest foot or longest hair or in need of a princely kiss or has some business all alone in an enchanted forest.

It is she with eyes in the back of her head, monitoring the sounds of her children while performing some everyday phenomenon like cooking, who knows when to turn around and give the Mother stare, which rips through her guilty children as a warning to stop the offending behavior or else.

It is she, who sacrifices sleep, time, and a quiet dinner to tend to her children, including a temporarily regressed significant other.

It is she, who, in case of an emergency, walks into the middle of a riot and slaps her child out of it to save his life.

She is the kisser of wounds; the teacher of lessons, moral and academic; the general medical practitioner; the judge and jury.

She is the infuser of strength and common sense, sending her children out into the world, separation anxiety be damned.

She is the giver of unconditional love, occasional tough love and timely, sometimes unwanted, free advice.

Her standards are her children’s everlasting measuring stick when judging the cleanliness of their room, the appropriateness of their attire or hairstyle and the worthiness of their current love interest being introduced to her.

Her honor is fought for when another mother’s child dare utters a vicious “Yo Mama” insult.

Her thoughts are worth more than a penny, her true financial compensation values more than a CEO of a fortune 500 company and her services are priceless.

Her power of creation extends beyond fertility to innovations in all domains of knowledge to make the world a better place for her children and future generations.

No league of superheroes can hold a society together more securely than the superglue that is the forgotten queens, the collective mothers of the world.

For all these things and infinitely more, I honor the mothers of the world whose individual names may never appear in a history book, but whose positive attributes will be successfully carried forth in the DNA of every surviving child.

All I need is the opportunity to dress up and I dive in. The latest cosplay inspiration was for a fundraiser at work.

Although the theme was “steampunk,” I find any excuse to carry my sword; hence my vampire slayer character.

I searched two Goodwill stores before I found something that looked like a corset. The silver clasp and chains I bought to bling it out cost as much as the top itself!

Another must-have accessory were the aviator’s goggles. I could have also gone with a top hat, but I love taking my dreads to new heights, which caused them to bump into walls since they took up so much space.

To create the multilevel skirt, I modified a long, flowing black skirt and safety-pinned it to the outside of a short, ruffled black skirt. The sacrifice of the long skirt was justified since I’ll wear this costume at least two more times: once while hosting the Austin Writers Roulette and again for Halloween.

One of the best features of this costume, other than how little it cost to put together, was how comfortable it was to wear. One of my coworkers sported a beautiful corset, but it prevented her from sitting comfortably and made driving a challenge.

Everyone who could, reported to the venue around 8:30 am to decorate for the adult spelling bee. Other than helping to unload things, my job was to fix up the bee decorations and place them attractively around the venue.

We reported back to the venue an hour and a half earlier than we expected participants and guests to arrive. Of course, I took advantage of that time to have a mini photo shoot.

And just to prove that I work at one of the coolest non-profits, we ended our brief, pre-event meeting with a tequila shot!

For this adult spelling bee, there were 14 teams, including the Bee-yonces, who won the costume contest.

The Dell Diamonds were the returning champs, but took 1st runner up and won the spirit award this year.

The Lord of the Bees spiced up the evening since one guy had a scandalously skimpy costume.

Another creatively dressed team was the Spellcasters, sporting their Harry Potter inspired costumes.

The youngest and cutest little bumblebee was only a few months old.

Professional performance group, Austin Babtist Women (intentional misspelling of “Baptist”) brought even more fun to the evening. I loved how one guy didn’t bother shaving off his mustache.

Three tuba players joined the spellers on stage. My role as “beekeeper” was to give spellers their numbered name tags for 1st, 2nd and 3rd speller order; seat them in a predetermined numerical order on stage and on time; make sure they were ready to approach the mic during their turn; and escort them off stage when they were not “saved” or after they were “stung.”

As I learned throughout the evening, saving and stinging were the fundraising highlights of the evening. If someone misspelled a word, then an audience member could save the team for $250. A team could be saved up to four times with an increasing cost of $500 the second time, $750 the third time and $1000 the fourth and final time. At any time, another audience member could out bid a save by stinging the team. Once a team was stung, they were escorted off stage.

Those teams lasted much longer than I thought they would through a combination of terrific spelling and saving. Only a few stings took place. Once only two teams remained, we had an intermission. Afterwards, the Austin Babtist Women performed again and then the two teams battled it out. There was a lot of back and forth since both teams had misspellings. There was no clear winner until the very last word was spelled.

As soon as a team member spelled a word correctly, we all cheered. I immediately started breaking down those chairs on stage. I’m so happy my coworkers had already taken down the decorations outside the theatre. We all made quick work to get everything loaded up and out the venue.

At the end of the night, I took home a half full veggie tray and our fundraiser made $87,000 to help low-literate adults and their families!

For the third year in a row, I volunteered at the biggest art festival held in Austin. Unlike last year, I had the second shift in the “Artist Hospitality” tent, which meant I didn’t have to do a lot of heavy lifting nor any set up. I just strolled into the tent, located much closer to the entrance than last year, and immediately started booth sitting so an artist could take up to a 30-minute break.

Although volunteering for a 3-hour shift qualified me to receive a free pass to look around at the various art booths, I saw nearly everything, walking to and from various booths to sit. I especially liked the mini-canvases of inspirational sayings. Even though this was not the artist’s main thing, her pithy sayings meant more to me than everything else I saw. If I had to pick a favorite saying, it would be “Dreams Don’t Work Unless You Do.”

Perhaps my favorite booth to sit turned out to be the last one.  I reported to the “swinging chairs” guy, who, unlike the other booths, didn’t even have a number. Yet, I had no problem finding his location.

He had two different styles of swinging chairs, but my favorite was the lounger. I spent most of my time kicked back and swinging once he reported to the artist VIP lounge. Despite the peculiarity of a patio furniture seller being at an art festival, the innovative designs can be considered artistic. Plus, at 90 degrees, the temperature motivated people to sit in the shade and test out the swinging chairs.  I handed out the double-sided flyers with prices.

And just to prove that I live in Austin, yet another major festival took place on the same day: Eeyore’s Birthday. This music-, drink-, and food-filled festival was the most hippie-ish festival I’ve ever attended, complete with legal and illegal drugs and nudity. Everything pretty much went on and the police just regulated traffic. Most of the food booths were sponsored by various groups in order to raise money and the closest parking cost $15 as a donation to the park.

Although I was supposed to enjoy the festivities with a meetup group, I came later than they did; so I missed the rendezvous. I walked upon a drop-in percussion group and spotted several people I knew. I stayed for about an hour and a half until my boxed wine called me home from the party.

On the way home, I used a $10 gift certificate to get a beef and lamb sandwich with a side of falafel. Since my latest Netflix DVD was waiting for me in the mailbox, I had a wonderful way to wind down from an art and music festival Saturday.

For the second year in a row, I contributed to a museum art fundraiser, where a local art supply store donated a 11 x 14″ canvas, 3 tubes of acrylic paint and two paint brushes. Anyone interested in participating, picked up the supplies at the museum and returned a decorated canvas a week before the opening reception. For a month, people bid on paintings via silent auction with the minimum bid starting at $50.

Since “Good Morning Kiss” was my first canvas of the year, I wanted to do something a little challenging. Originally, only the woman’s hand would be in focus, her face would be slightly out of focus and the guy would be completely out of focus. Ha!

Of course my plan was far above my skill level, especially within the allotted three weeks I had to complete the mission. The biggest pitfall was thinking I could dab on paint and still come up with with something that approximated the human form.

I wrestled with making the guy look more than some blob hovering over the woman. He was actually grotesque to look at. Then, his beard and other hair looked wrong.

One breakthrough: the “arm” I painted for him to the left of his head, made a much better “leg” for her! As soon as I made that discovery, I dabbed on a darker brown hue. Had I attempted in the beginning to make that a leg, I’m confident it would have turned out perfectly as his arm! That’s the beauty of my painting talent–I accomplish more when I’m aiming for a different target.

I corrected his beard and hair, thanks to a movie I’d watched during the making of this canvas. Afterwards, I did their hair and signed it.

The best thing about only having three weeks to paint it was not succumbing to perfectionism. When I showed one coworker a picture of this canvas, he exclaimed, “Oh, this actually looks like art!” I took his comment as a compliment and hoped the painting will fetch a decent amount of money for the museum’s educational programs.

I got the creative, money-saving idea to make my next costume for the Austin Writers Roulette “Walk in Another’s Shoes” event. At the time, I hadn’t received my federal refund to rent or buy used outlandish shoes. So, I brainstormed wrapping my boots in decorated cloth.

Foolish me actually thought the decorating would take more time. I envisioned hand-sewing the cut ends of the cloth while watching TV. I even contacted a friend who loves crafting. She put me ahead of the game by sewing most of the hems on the two wraps and 12 ties, which really deluded me into thinking I’d have the entire costume sewn up, so to speak, in a matter of hours.

I feared making buttonholes by hand; so I put off the task for a week. Since I’d planned to attend a creative meetup where a costume designer would be present, I figured I’d get her opinion. In the meantime, I consulted one of my sisters who used to be an avid seamstress about making buttonholes by hand. Since she lives in another state, she talked me through the whole technique and answered my naive questions. During this conversation, I began to have an inkling of what I’d gotten myself into.

A few days later, the costume designer schooled me on a couple of things. First of all, the “wraparound boot skirts” were officially called “gaiters.” Gaiters are defined as protective gear worn over the shins. Since my creative endeavor was in no danger of being protective, I felt that my poetic name for them was better.

Secondly, the costume designer suggested the time-saving tip of removing two of the six ties on each wrap in order to sew them closer to where they could tie for a snugger fit. That way, I could avoid the whole handmade buttonhole business!
Somehow, I became illogical after completing this first hurdle. I honestly thought I could decorate the gaiters in less time than I’d made them. I even researched how to attach the feathers, which was a a good thing since none of the research showed anyone using a hot glue gun…my original thought. In the end, I used a combination of heavy-duty double-sided tape, used to hang stuff on the walls, and HAND-SEWING!

Fortunately, the AISD superintendent called a snow day, which meant my evening Adult Basic Education class was canceled.  I spent over 5 hours arranging those feathers, taping them down, then reinforcing the entire shebang by hand-stitching the taped feathers to the cloth.

Oh. My. God. From threading the needle to driving that needle through layers of material with a thimbled finger, never has sewing been such a torturous endeavor!Granted, it was all worth the effort. After all, I’d spent less than $10 on materials, but that’s not counting my time.  As usual. 

One of these days, I’m going to be compensated for the time I put into my art. Until then, I’ll just keep accepting donations for my monthly spoken word and poetry show. 

My wraparound boot skirts were a big hit that transcended species.  An adorable English bulldog puppy named Lily could barely contain her enthusiasm. In my yoga class, the instructors often talk about “English bulldog determination.” I got to experience first-hand, thanks to my footwear costume.

I hardly ever pass up the chance to dress up. So, when one of my coworkers solicited volunteers to help her run the Literacy Coalition information table at a local comic book convention, I got very excited. Now, this wasn’t the BIG, internationally famous comic book convention, but since it would be the first one I’d ever attended, I started dreaming up costume choices.

Given my enthusiasm for carrying a toy sword, I knew that accessory had to be a part of the ensemble. I took my black wings out of hibernation, along with my long black gloves, figuring they’d help to warm my arms if it was breezy in the lobby. In reality, if I had been cold, my shoulders would have suffered. Fortunately, the temperature was an inviting 61 degrees.

I called myself “The Avenging Angel of Literacy”. My backstory was I spoke up for all the literature (I’m using that word rather loosely) which had not been read since literate people are increasingly apathetic to making time to read a book.

I arrived before my coworker, who I lent my Storm wig and cape. I checked in and requested a table near an outlet. For some inexplicable reason, GPS had drained the hell out of my phone. No one had a compatible charger. Once a guy loaned me a gadget, which had multiple phone prongs, I discovered the coveted outlet didn’t work! Most of my original incentive for volunteering for this gig was the photo op. Thankfully, my coworker came to the rescue with her pictures. I certainly learned my lesson about not carrying my charger.

I stayed 5 hours to recoup the loss of wages during the “snow day,” where AISD had cancelled classes. As usual, the day turned out to be beautiful and sunny. I spent most of my time off getting another costume ready for the Austin Writers Roulette.

A series of paneled discussions with cartoonists took place in the theatre. The only one that interested me was “Hire This Woman!”.  I’m always interested in how pioneering women in a male-dominated field strategize and derive inspiration. The four women were interviewed by a local female cartoonist. They all made references to comics/graphic novels and creators who I’d never heard of, which was not surprising since I’m not an avid reader of either. I loved their quirky, creative energy and passion to follow their art.

I was surprised how next to no one, including the cartoonists, dressed up. Certainly, the crowd looked interesting, but not in fantasy character.

I role-played a little after smelling cigar smoke while sitting in the lobby. I exited the lobby with a determined gait, looked around and found the culprit. I yelled, “You!” and unsheathed my sword and stuck it in the offending guy’s chest.

Although he immediately pleaded, “I didn’t do it,” all the while puffing away, I informed him that he was smoking just outside the door and his cigar smoke could be smelled in the lobby. Even the organizer, who was puffing on his cancer stick a few feet away, told the guilty party he had to be 15ft away from the door.

Justice was served.  Thank God I had my sword!

For the second time ever, I attended a professional football game. One of my sisters had graciously invited my other sister, her son, our father and me to use four of their Redskin season tickets.

Normally, my sister cheered for the Redskins…except for when they played the Cowboys.  I’d attended my first pro football game in Dallas over ten years ago. I can’t remember who the Cowboys had played. Or even if they won.

Since I’m not a sports fan, I truly didn’t care who won. Just being there was a terrific, novel activity. Rarely do I watch sports on TV.

Being there in the flesh made the game enjoyable.The teacher in me didn’t like how the Redskins fans booed when the Cowboys came on the field.

We’d arrived much earlier than necessary since luck was on our side as far as traffic and parking were concerned.

Of all the fanatics around, the guy with the “Jesus Hates the Cowboys” T-shirt was the closest to us. 

Once the game began, the stadium rapidly filled, the rain began to drizzle and the Cowboys beat the Redskins 44 to 17.

This vacation started off a bit rough. The mid-morning flight I’d booked to fetch me from Austin to DC had been cancelled by the time I arrived at the airport. I only had three options to arrive in DC much later on the same day. This began my warped sense of time. Once I reached my sister’s house, the kids were already in bed and we adults were too tired to be sociable.

Much too early, my sister knocked on the door, gently announcing it was 5:10. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had such an early wake up call. In retrospect, that would’ve been back in June when I was trekking to Machu Picchu. This special occasion was to attend my nephew’s track meet. I dutifully got up, got ready and warmed up something to eat in the oven.

One thing I always teased my sister about whenever I visited was the family’s “hobby” of hoarding material and edible things. So, I had no challenge finding food. As a matter of fact, my Herculean task was not to binge eat from the time I woke up until minutes before going to bed. That plus dealing with the avalanche of stockpiled things. Case in point: plastic bags.

I’d opened a drawer to get aluminum foil and couldn’t close it again. Try as I might, the drawer kept getting stuck. Due to the earliness of the day, I repeated the same useless motion more times than logically necessary before opening the small cabinet door below the drawer. Out tumbled a few plastic bags. The drawer still wouldn’t close. Being in an all-or-nothing mood, I took great joy pulling out a dozen plastic bags, one handful at a time.
I’m sure my fascination with the bags was a combined reaction to the sheer number that had been jammed into such a small area and the fact I no longer stockpiled my own since the single-use plastic bag ban in Austin.

After dropping my nephew off at his school, my sister, brother-in-law and I went to the venue where the track meet was held–far too early! We sat in the parking lot for about half an hour where I took the first of several naps.  By the time we entered the facility, the place buzzed with energetic students and sleepy-eyed adults.

I kept looking for my nephew’s mohawk, which was the best way to pick him out of a crowd. My sister and I got good seats on the concrete bleachers away from the door and in front of the finish line. My brother-in-law reported to the floor to be one of about 30 other adults who’d volunteered to be timers.

My sister didn’t realize her son’s first event would be the long jump despite the fact I kept telling her he was standing in line to jump. Too bad I couldn’t get a picture of him in mid jump, but that event occurred at the far end of the field and my butt was already frozen to the concrete bleacher.

The only good picture I took of his 55m dash was after the fact. I liked the blurry picture I took of his 300m race since my mind had become just as blurry. We collected him after that race and returned home. Even though we arrived home a little after one, I felt it was much later in the day. I ate and took another nap.
Believe it or not, we still made the 4-hour drive to the Poconos! I napped several more times in the car. Normally, I enjoy reading on long-distance trips, but the sun had already gone down by the time we had hit the road. About half past eleven, we arrived at the welcome center to get our keys to the condo. The receptionist apologized upfront for the darkness where our condo was located. Yet, he’d said nothing about entering from the back door.

When my sister originally tried the front door, we were shocked it was chained from the inside. None of us liked scary movies and there we were standing in near darkness on the porch when occupants may have been inside our condo. I strained my eyes, looking through the window for movement and knowing full well had I’d seen any, I would have had a near heart attack.

Despite this, I suggested trying the backdoor. My brother-in-law shot that idea down, reasoning if someone was inside, we wouldn’t want to surprise them. He tried calling reception, but couldn’t get a signal. Then my sister suggested trying the backdoor.  I accompanied her. The key worked and the door was unchained. She called out a greeting and turned on the nearest lights. I picked up a flashlight, conveniently located just near the door, thinking any weapon was better than none.

As we called out some more, we made our way to the front door, unchained and unlocked it.  Not seeing any evidence of personal items, I still ran upstairs, flashlight in hand and checked out the two bedrooms. All clear. Even though we wanted to have an active Sunday, all we managed to do was eat, starting with brunch at a famed breakfast place.

The warm atmosphere, including the buttery smells, welcomed us in. Reading the menu, we were overwhelmed by exotic pancake and omelet choices. We began buddying up to share two dishes we were most interested in tasting, knowing full well we’d all sample one another’s plates. Although I declared no two people should get the same thing so we can sample as many things as possible, my sister and one of her daughters both ordered the garden omelet. My nephew and I split a bacon Belgian waffle and New York cheesecake pancakes–the most delicious combination that hit the table!

By the time we finished brunch, half the daylight hours were down. We shopped a little at a local chain we could have visited anywhere in the States and parts of Mexico, then visited another local food favorite. If there were too many choices at the breakfast place, the popcorn place was even worst!

The employees enthusiastically asked the mob of customers who needed help next and brought out samples of popcorn choices two at a time. We mainly stuck with sweet or savory choices, not trying any “fruity” flavors or any of the homemade fudge until our second visit the next day. Most of the savory choices, especially those that were advertised as “spicy” tasted too salty. Yet, we walked away with some good selections and we all received a small bag of buttery popcorn. Instead of eating my free bag, I added it to my mother’s Christmas bag since she’s a popcorn enthusiast.

By this time, there were only a few hours of daylight left. Yet, we wanted to drive by the slopes, mainly to find out where it was. We’d become lost going to nearly every destination, only to be rescued by GPS after a couple of attempts to reach a particular destination. As a matter of fact, we’d accidentally entered New Jersey twice just to pay a $1 toll to escape.

After seeing the slopes, we returned to the condo, making plans to eat breakfast at home in order to get an earlier start and hit the slopes the next day. Of course, we all reported to different rooms in the condo to relax. I favored the upstairs, which had such intense heat, I’d awoken with a slow nose bleed the first morning. Nonetheless, I still enjoyed reading up there until dinner.

This restaurant had a smorgashbord of choices: BBQ, Mexican, pasta, seafood, soups, salads and red wine! That should have been our first clue that they couldn’t have been experts in all dishes.

At least I captured my three sobrinos in a moment where no two of them were bickering–not that they were too enthusiastic about taking a picture with Frosty.

The one thing I wanted was seafood pasta, which was no longer on the menu. Instead, the waiter, who’d obviously had a recent cigarette break, suggested to order the “Captain’s Platter” over pasta. Looked better than it tasted.

Next morning, everything ran like clockwork. We all suited and booted up.

Some of us tripled up on socks and other articles of clothing. Thanks to my snowsuit, I had to suck in my stomach to raise my leg and put on my boots.

We walked across the bridge. I could barely walk with all that clothing on. I was somewhat comforted by the name of the restaurant at the slopes.

We quickly filled out our release forms, waited in line and had our little hearts crushed. Apparently, the 11 am tubing only happened on the weekends.

So close to tubing! Yet we had our forms filled out, our tickets and another plan to make it on time for the 1-3 pm tubing.

Before we returned to the condo, I snapped a picture of the technology making it all possible: the snow machine. We’d seen evidence of natural snow, piled up in the corners of parking lots. Fortunately for me, there wasn’t more snowfall while we visited.

Third time to the slopes was the charm. We marched to the tubing area, missed the initial instructions, but that activity had such a low learning curve, the biggest challenge was keeping one’s temper while waiting in line.

Although there were three lanes, the only difference I experienced among them was how fast the line moved. Once again, I was happy to be childless. I’m sure some teacher looks seeped out. I straight up told two teens they may be prohibited from riding if they continued to throw snowballs at one another. Throwing snowballs was against the rules, but I wasn’t sure what the actual consequences were.

My sister and I were the top winners for making the most runs.  There was only one time I waited in an exceptionally slow line.  The only consolation was speaking Spanish with a Cuban woman who’d never tubed before.

For our last ethnic meal in the Poconos, we dined at a Peruvian restaurant.  Before we arrived, I had warned them against eating guinea pig, but it wasn’t on the menu.  Neither was alpaca, which is tasty meat.  We ordered a carafe of chicha morada, a spicy purple corn drink.  Everyone except my nephew liked it. We ordered a variety of meals, each one satisfied the palate.

For our final breakfast before returning to VA, we all enjoyed the leftovers from all the places we’d eaten. I laughed inwardly at how we’d managed to recreate the food hoarding for the brief time we were there!

One of the deciding factors to relocate to Austin when I completed my 8-year self-imposed exile from the US was the mild winters. That paid off once again this past Saturday. Low 70s weather in mid-December found me outside, participating in a marimba demonstration. 

I’d volunteered to work the Sustainable Food Center’s information table at the Cherrywood Art Festival, which I knew would be a wonderful experience since I’d be surrounded by art, music, food and a creative buzz all around. I hadn’t counted on participating in a marimba demo.

As usual, my coordination challenged my playing ability. My dancer’s ear was my only saving grace. Once I let my body move with the groove, I could play the rhythm the real musicians had taught.

After a few minutes, I’d worked up a sweat. For the brief time I played, the group of us actually sounded pretty good while we amateurs held down the rhythm.

Even though I volunteered for four hours, I was starving by the time I got home. Typically, I took a power nap after eating a late lunch (or what my parents would refer to as “dinner”). I cleaned up my tiny apartment, read and got cleaned up myself to attend an art opening.What an incredible collection.  I’d seen several of the artists’s work before. Moreover, I met some interesting people and became entangled into a couple of good conversations. Of course I gave them my card. My ulterior motive for attending such events was to recruit for the Austin Writers Roulette, regardless of whether they were writers, musicians or just enthusiastic audience members.