Special Events – Page 20 – Where Vivid Narratives Live

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!

Bloody Mary Research Addendum

After “concluding” my Bloody Mary research at a make-your-own Bloody Mary bar with a group of friends a few months ago, rumors had it that I’d missed a good spot on 6th Street. I wanted to pick a time to invite friends to hit this dive burger bar when all of our schedules coincided.

Turns out, thanks to one of many ubiquitous street festivals that take place here in Austin, I convinced some other festival-goers I’d met that day to go with me.

We were going to get a burger along with drinks, but the wait-time for food ran about an hour. I figured since a Bloody Mary is like a meal in a glass, especially when properly garnished, then I’d still satisfy both objectives.

When the bartender asked how hot I wanted it on a scale from 1 to 10, with 10 being the hottest, I figured I was being both adventurous and cautious by saying 8. After all, I didn’t want to pay nearly $10 for something bland. She warned me that it would have ghost peppers. I threw caution to the wind, thinking it would only be a dash of ghost pepper since I’d requested an 8.

That bartender, who had already demonstrated her snarkiness with other customers, did her damnedest to teach me a lesson, I’m sure. I tolerated the cocktail’s heat as long as I had some of the garnish (bacon, celery, pickled jalapeño, green olives) to eat along with every sip. Once the food was gone, that drinkable fire was overwhelming.

I auspiciously spied a leftover order of fries on a couple’s adjacent table. That couple had ordered two hamburgers, which came with fries and an extra order of fries. They’d stacked up their burger boats and had stopped paying attention to the other fries. I leaned over and politely asked if they were done with their fries, startling them with my request.

The guy shrugged, looked at his woman and she nodded she was done. He handed me the rest. Salvation! I dipped those fries into my beverage and managed to consume two-thirds of the bartender’s revenge.

The combination of the ghost pepper and the gory over-the-top Asian martial arts movie the restaurant showed on all the TVs started to turn my stomach. At the end of the movie, I said my good-byes and walked as quickly as I dared through the art and music festival crowd.

Once inside my car, the blast of AC helped, but I prayed traffic wouldn’t delay me from my porcelain throne. What an amazing experience. It’s not every day I can trace the presence of something throughout my alimentary canal. I could’ve sworn that ghost pepper pushed its way throughout my digestive track, bullying everything else in its wake.

All in all, it was a decent Bloody Mary.

The Forgotten Queen

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.

Steampunk Vampire Slayer

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!

Art & Eeyore

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.

Good Morning Kiss

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.