Category: Special Events

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.

Once again, the great city of Austin managed to pull off a retro experience.  This time, the drive-in movie. I met a few meetup friends at the urban drive-in movie for a double Halloween feature: “Scream” and “Freaks.”

We were the first ones there; so we moved all the comfy reclining lawn chairs to the prime spot in the parking lot in front of the screen.

I brought a small boxed red wine, which turned out to be too cheap to be drinkable. Yet the food I brought totally hit the spot. Just behind the lawn chairs were some picnic tables where we ate our dinner before the sun went down.

I was impressed at the projectionist’s set up. There were speakers all around the parking lot. Believe it or not, my sensitive ears were just fine with the volume.  Of course, I had my earplugs just in case. (Actually, I never leave home without them!)

Even though I brought my own food, there was a concessions trailer on the edge of the parking lot.

As a budding germaphobe, I was concerned with a mere two porta potties. Initially, I thought I’d just hold it for three hours. I changed my mind, thinking if I hit it before the crowds arrived, perhaps it would be so gross or would at least have toilet paper. In the end, I don’t know how often those porta potties were cleaned. I just washed my hands and tried not to dwell on it.

As the sun set and some cars arrived, I loved the atmosphere of the drive-in.

Before the movie, instead of watching previews, old ads were played. I forgot all about the health ads they used to show about getting a check up. Equally amusing was the Dixie cup-sized soft drinks and apparently Blacks, Hispanics and Asians didn’t exist.

I normally avoid scary movies, but since I’d already seen parts of “Scream”, it wasn’t too bad. Yet “Freaks” wasn’t scary at all–at least not to modern audiences. This classic movie had been banned since most of the cast were people born with physical disabilities. Yet, as another moviegoer and I discussed, back in those days, if someone with such disabilities weren’t associated with a circus or the movies, then life would have been very bleak. As slow-moving as “Freaks” was, I’m so happy it was about an hour long. The movie was over around 11:30. I  nearly turned into a pumpkin.

For my first stop, I experienced art through all of my senses, starting with smell. Given a small satchel to sniff, I immediately recognized the barbecue scent. Then the lights were raised and I saw how the the smell of barbecue had inspired the photographers. 

For the next sensual stimulus, I touched the items in a tray. When the lights were raised, I saw that I’d correctly identified a fretboard and keyboard through my fingertips. Then I examined the music-inspired photos.

At the next station, I wore headphones and listened to music playing.

When the lights were raised, I viewed the music-inspired photos.

Yet my favorite station was the last one. I cradled my barbecue pork rib like receiving an early Christmas gift.

I didn’t get into it like the guy in my favorite taste photo though someone had teased me of getting sauce on my shirt.

Another favorite photo showed a guy proudly displaying his burnt hot dogs while the woman in the background put out a fire. Typical!

This interactive installation consisted of one famous photographer and two local photographers. I spoke with the local photographer who was present. Turns out, I’d selected one of her pictures as my free gift.

The second event took place several hours after the first one of the day. I thought it was supposed to be interactive, but after the fact, when I looked at the invitation again, I saw that it stated “video installation.”  Amazing how my mind had added the “interactive” part. Nonetheless, I finally got my chance to try a speciality bloody mary.  

One of our local, upscale grocery stores recently celebrated their 20th anniversary.  This is the type of event I love to volunteer for. Not only that, but the icing on the 20th anniversary cake is that they really did not need outside volunteers. After their own in-house paid employee help, there were no gaps in the 8-month event planning to pull this shindig off. After three impromptu orientations, which turned out to be more ceremonial than necessary, we were given the green light to stroll among the preparations to familiarize ourselves with the lay of the land.

I made a beeline to the fire pits. Although I’d been to this grocery store several times since moving to Austin 5 years ago and this was the first time I’d stepped off the deck onto the lawn. 

The first fire pit had smoked salmon.

The middle fire pit had smoked whole pigs.

The third fire pit smoked had whole chickens.  All three pits had pumpkins at the bottom. These pits were the bulk of the dinner,  which was served later in the evening when the paying guests arrived.

I’d been accustomed to dancing to live music on the deck, but a bigger temporary dance floor and stage were constructed near the pits.

Of the three appetizers that were being served, the paella was the one I was most excited about. I took this picture while the rice and vegetables were still cooking and prior to it being decorated with mussels, jumbo shrimp and sausage. When I returned to this food station, which was run by a local restaurant, one of the owners recognized me from bikram class. Talk about small world. Of course, I gave her one of my business cards. I passed those little gems out like candy during Halloween.

The deck had been transformed to an elegant dining space, unlike anything I’d been used to in the past 5 years of eating, dancing and listening to music. There was a coffee, tea and dessert station in the back and a bar, featuring bottled water, beer, wine and soda to the right. 

I witnessed the team orientation, which confirmed that my presence, along with my fellow volunteers, would be totally unnecessary. Yet, I had no complaints. I absolutely love volunteering for special events where I can eat, drink and socialize first before doing any other duty. (I’d like to think that as an interesting conversationalist, I enhanced other people’s evening.)

After four hours of schmoozing, I finally fulfilled my volunteer duty. The Argentine chef, who was in charge of the fire pits and main meal, had a 15-minute book signing. In reality, my presence was not necessary and I noticed that the other book signing volunteers had not bothered to show up. Being the staunch Virgo I am, I wanted to follow through with my commitment, regardless of its duration. 

Technically, the chef had already signed every single cookbook that was for sale. So, he added a little personalization to the signature. For most, he chose to encase his signature in a large apple outline and add the person’s name.  For one guy who had a crew cut, the chef drew and outline of the guy’s head.

Toward the end of the evening, champagne was passed out and group pictures were taken. I didn’t take part in either, but enjoyed the festive close to a flawless evening.

In addition to enjoying the evening’s libations, I took home two commerative glasses. I tested out the wine glass the following day and will test out the miniature beer glass when I attend an Octoberfest celebration later in the month.