One of my friends, who is a professional event planner, planned our New Year’s Eve celebration. She used her hotel points to secure our double room downtown. Some of us came from out of town, but those of us who lived in Austin forgot to bring a cooler. Since we had two joining double rooms, we used one shower as a cooler and the other for showering.
I learned the “rule” about taking pictures: raise the camera above the subject so that she appears slimmer.
Even though the other women had referred to me as “skinny,” I appreciated the slimming effect of a higher angle after a week and a half of Dionysian celebration.
With 7 women staying together, we had a good time getting ready and taking pictures. At one point, I wondered if we would leave the hotel to celebrate with other people.
Once we got out of our room, we had to take group pictures. We all sported boot bling and asked a guy to take a picture of our boots. At first, the guy got real excited because he thought we’d asked him to take a picture of our “boobs.” Dream on! He hastily re-aimed the camera for this blurry shot.
We took two cabs to a honky tonk bar. We arrived around 9:30, which was far too early for a good crowd, but since we were a group of 7, we brought the noise. Plus, we got three excellent tables in the middle of two bar areas and the mechanical bull.
The last time I’d ridden a mechanical bull, I was 27 and teaching in South Korea, riding for free since the operator liked the way my flying dreadlocks drew in the crowd. I got another free “ride” this time around as well since the bull wasn’t moving for this action shot. Actually, it tilted down when I mounted it since I started the whole pose-on-the-bull event. As you can see from the background, we were the only people in the club.
Another photo op we took was at the arm wrestling table. Again, since we beat the crowd, we had to entertain ourselves as best we could.
I’m not a “shot” person, but I participated in the first round and took one sip of the subsequent ones, passing the rest off to a friend to finish.
I stuck mostly to mudslides. In this picture, I’m sipping a mudslide and sporting my earplugs since the live band started playing at 11 pm.
One of my friends showed up just before midnight. Thank goodness because with a posse of 7 women, we needed more men to dance with.
One of my goals during the two-week winter break was to complete my eighth “The Adventures of Infinity and Negativa” painting, which happened today. Just in time to face school tomorrow. I knew that my present abilities would not freehand a good outline of Utila Island. So I printed a map of the island, photocopied it on a transparency and projected it onto the canvas to trace.
The biggest challenge for completing this canvas was not my busy schedule, but the cold weather. If the temperature was in the mid 50s, I’d put on a jacket and go out to paint. Anything lower than that stopped me from painting on my balcony, my preferred environment.
At the risk of being my own worst critic, I think the Caribbean water is too green-looking, but I love how the ladies look. Practice does make a difference. I attended an art opening last night and I got some ideas about how to do the eyes and fingers differently.
Here are my 8 “babies.” I’m so proud of them all. I’m about a third of the way done with the series. The two tricks will be to complete the other two-thirds by the end of the year along with the manuscript. Wow, there it is, my year-end goals!
I must admit that now that one of my sisters is no longer a teetotaler, Christmas has become a more Bacchanalian celebration. I started with sampling my brother-in-law’s very expensive Scotch (yuck!) followed by a more palatable, but still nasty expensive cognac. After the ice melted more in the cognac, I reported that the secret to enjoying either one of those choice whiskeys was being drunk enough to drink them. In the long run, the premixed eggnog with a blend of Kentucky bourbon turned out to be my poison of choice since there was no Malbec in the house.
Mom, Dad, another sister and her son all arrived on Christmas Eve. For nearly a year, Mom has been raving the benefits of gin-soaked golden raisins as treatment for arthritis. She advocated nine in the morning and nine in the evening to ward off the effects of arthritis. She even boasted of taking twenty-seven raisins the night she went out dancing. I told her the reason her knee didn’t give her any problems that night was because it was drunk. Nonetheless, I ate nine of them and found it distasteful. I’ll stick to bikram yoga for my preventative arthritis treatment.
Yet, the true Christmas celebration was being around my family. We’re loving and close, but still manage to get on each other’s nerves. What a joy it is to be able to laugh at one another! I barely managed to whip out my camera fast enough to capture the moment of Dad trying to hold up the cell phone so Mom could talk while still fixing her delicious potato salad. I was too busy laughing at the running commentary between the two of them, which I should have recorded instead.
Mom even explained her gin-soaked raisin cure to a family friend after our Christmas Eve dinner. She let him get away with eating only two! He claimed that he had to drive and couldn’t imbibe a lot of alcohol. Wimp!
Once all the presents were wrapped and under the tree, the kids still stayed up late either watching TV or gaming. They were all old enough to no longer believe in Santa Claus. That didn’t stop me from telling them that he wouldn’t come if they didn’t go to bed.
I was partially right: Santa’s little helpers, in the form of my two older sisters, did emerge around one in the morning to stuff stockings that were hung by the chimney with care.
For the first time ever, I awoke on Christmas morning before my nieces and nephews. I guess since we’re all grown now, we can get up at a decent hour, do our morning ablutions and then open presents. When Christmas shopping, I’d stuck to a budget since most of my family didn’t truly need anything and for those who did, I couldn’t buy. After all, where does one purchase “motivation” and “sanity”? Instead, I bought gifts that were made by Austin artists.
To one nephew, I gave a mixed media painting of a DJ.
To my brother-in-law, I gave a designer nightlight. My sister, his wife, is a firm believer of nightlights. Plus, since that particular company customizes its products, I figured it would be a fun thing for them to do in the future if they ever wanted to make company nightlights for their business.
To one of my sisters, who dabbles in catering and teaching art classes, I gave an apron with pockets.
To my other nephew, I gave DIY set of cards that he can decorate since he is a hardcore Leggo fiend.
To Dad, I gave a shaving kit. He’s been sporting the cue ball look for a few years now; so I know he’ll make great use of it.
To one niece, I gave a designer cloth brooch and “math genius” bobby pins.
To the other niece, I gave a DIY stuffed animal kit.
My sister, who photobombed this picture, designed the plate that I’m holding. She’s the only one who made her Christmas gifts.
To Mom, I gave a necklace that was a repurposed antique plate chard.
To my other sister, I gave a fascinator since her hat collection is catching up to her shoe collection!
After the gift opening, my sister and brother-in-law put the final touches on breakfast, which featured scrambled eggs with cheese and hash browns, among other foods.
I wasn’t even all that hungry a few hours later when we ate Christmas dinner, but who am I to complain about more good food? Besides, I felt that I laughed most of those calories away after dinner when all the ladies in the house and the kids’ godmother played a riveting game of Taboo.
About a month before visiting my sister’s family in VA, I bought an expensive winter coat for $10 + taxes to prepare for the much colder weather than what I normally experience in Austin. Despite my early morning flight, I still didn’t need my winter coat en route to my final destination. Not only was I surprised by the warm weather once I landed, but I did not expect to be picked up in style–namely a ’74 Oldsmobile convertible. That was the best beginning to my weeklong visit home for Christmas.
After all, who knew how long the warm, sunny weather would last? As it turned out, the next day started off quite promising, but then the gray clouds formed and the rain began in earnest. We arrived at church late, we didn’t go to the Redskins v. Cowboys game, but we definitely got to dinner on time!
Normally, I would have appreciated walking around the mall afterwards since I always feel underexercised when I visit my sister’s family. Yet, my recovering ankle, even with an ankle brace didn’t fare too well halfway through their Christmas shopping frenzy. The mall wasn’t even crazy packed. I just got annoyed at all the walking around. Fortunately, I won’t have to do that tomorrow and I’m sleeping in. I can already tell that I’ll need to do yoga in the morning.
The next time we go shopping, my mother will be here. At least she walks my speed and will tire out around the same time I do. Boy, that’s going to be a trip if my 73-year-old mother out walks me on Box Day!
Thanksgiving comes as a wonderful break from work to sleep in and then work on various, small, creative projects. In other words, I truly rejuvenate myself. One thing that I put together was my famous cornbread for the Orphans’ Thanksgiving, hosted by a meetup couple. Not only is one of them a chef, but they live about 15 minutes from me; so it was very convenient to join them. For a potluck dinner, the food was delicious and the conversation very entertaining. We played Scattergories afterwards. I’d never played before, but I was the overall winner since I can hardly go wrong with word-based games.
I came home and watched two movies while addressing 18 “season’s greetings” cards. None of them had anything to do with Thanksgiving, Hanukkah, Christmas or Kwanzaa. Instead, they were very artistically stylized cards that I like to write out. Five of them had Day of the Dead themes. Nonetheless, I spent a considerable time addressing them and inputting those addresses into my phone for future reference.
After enjoying a Friday morning yoga class, I put together the sauce for my infamous spicy lasagna, starting with the sauce. I had a minor mishap when I shook the top right off the sea salt container. I think that threw off my cooking mojo, but I recalibrated as best I could. As the sauce cooled, I ate lunch and wrote. Then I put together the ricotta, parmesan and kale mixture. The traditional recipe calls for spinach, but I don’t usually waste my time with anything less nutritious than kale, which was a good thing since my friend who brought the salad had a spinach base. I loved the flavors she’d blended together. I layered the lasagna and put it in the refrigerator. I’m not sure if that’s the best technique for marinating, but since I’d planned to make dessert the next day, I needed the lasagna to be oven-ready.
Coupled with my infamous lasagna was my scandalously named “Screaming Orgasm Chocolate Cheesecake.” I’d never made it in the circular dessert pan before. Not only that, in my haste, I put the chocolate pieces on too soon and they melted and ran together. I took my chef’s brush and swirled the pieces together. I learned my lesson about patience since that chocolate layer defied being broken neatly.
Originally, I’d invited two girlfriends over for this special dinner, but when one canceled due to work, I scrambled to find her replacement. In the end, two guys were invited because I’d spent two days preparing food and they were available on short notice. My friend and I managed to have about an hour of female bonding before the guys showed up and it was an invaluable time to reaffirm that we were both sane in our pursuits of life, love and happiness.
The unlikely dinner party was a huge success mainly due to the fact that we all loved dancing, spicy food and were lively characters in our own way. In the end, one of the guys made quick and thorough work of the dishes as we talked throughout the night. I’m glad that I’ve started this New Year’s resolution early. It’ll get me in good practice for 2014.
I love any excuse to get dressed up; so when I got the invitation to a Halloween party in the middle of October, of course I jumped on it. Funny thing is, I didn’t take a single picture, but that’s no problem. I wore the same costume I wore at the last Austin Writers Roulette: the avenging angel.
At this point, I’ve got so many costume accessories that I can mix and match and come up with something–such as the avenging angel getup. What’s so funny is that people thought the boot was part of the costume until I hobbled from my seat to get something, which didn’t happen often. Once I sat with my leg propped up, I was down for the count.
The best thing is the crowd was accommodating and joined me in the living room to talk. I like small parties where it’s possible to get to know other people who are also interesting enough to make it worth the effort. I hate to be a snob, but there are some people in the world who don’t travel, read book or have any interesting hobbies to hold my attention during a conversation. Thank goodness none of those people were at that small Halloween party!
I made a pumpkin cheesecake, but noticed once I got arrived that very few people had bothered to bring anything. I think I’m the only one who did not know the hosts, thanks to the joys of meetup. One of the hosts is a chef and her spread was both imaginative and delicious. I think most people just brought drinks to share because they concluded why bother with food when there’s a chef hosting a party?
I, on the other hand, was happy to place my dessert among her creative creations. Besides, I had a second invitation at a nearby house where I shared my cheesecake. I hobbled in and no one recognized me until I spoke. Since the second party’s theme was “fall salsa,” I was out of place being in costume and having a boot. Nonetheless, they were just finishing dinner and moved the table to the side when I finished with my sample plate of meat and cheese. I sipped wine on the sidelines while couples danced.
Once again, I had other people to talk to. It’s so fantastic not to be invisible, especially since everything takes me an extra effort to do.
I return to the doctor this coming Friday. I want to be cleared to kick the knee walker to the curb and return to yoga. If all goes as planned, I will return to bikram yoga next Sunday and resume my thrice a week practice. I’m hoping that along with pain management, yoga will eliminate the swelling so I won’t have to prop of my foot when I’m sitting. Those little physical improvements will go a long way in my overall happiness.
I’ve always professed not to be a beer drinker, but I jumped on the opportunity to join a social group of 30- and 40-somethings for a nearby small brewery tour. I made sure that I arrived on the early side of noon since one of the social group organizers advertised that he’d have a canopy. I figured if I got there early enough, I’d be one of the 20 lucky people to get under the shade.
We wanted to get a good spot in the blocked off concrete area, just in front of the musical stage and close to the food and beer. Plus, our group was the first in line to get our $10 beer glass that would be filled three times. As two volunteers set up the glasses, another volunteer came through the line with a wristband, which I initially thought was merely show that people were drinking age. I noticed that they had a slightly smaller, more attractive-looking beer glass. I patiently waited for them to finish putting out all the glasses to cover the table’s surface. Then I cheerfully told the woman, “I want the pretty glass.”
We had about 20 minutes to wait until they actually started serving beer; so I returned to the canopy since I figured why stand in the sun when I can sit in the shade? Besides, I thought this would be a terrific opportunity to get to know some of the other early birds in the social group before the same space transformed into a scene that the Sumerian goddes of brewing, Ninkasi, would be proud of. As I sat, I was surprised that no one else had joined me. I watched them and wondered what the hold up was. The line didn’t move at all. After 5 minutes two guys from the social group joined me. They informed me that the volunteers working the glass/wristband line decided not to sell anymore glasses until 12:45 when the beer was ready to serve.
I then spied a few people who already had their beer. The guys informed me that VIPs could get their first beer without having to wait in line. I joked that I always felt like a VIP. They encouraged me to try, saying that I probably wouldn’t get turned down. I thought to myself these guys could probably get away with some “white skin privilege,” but I told them, “You two are white guys. You could a VIP beer if you wanted.” Granted, that wasn’t much better than what I’d thought. They laughed that off and said that as an attractive woman, I’d be more likely to get a VIP beer. I took the challenge.
I walked inside the brewery, glanced at the 6 beer choices and confidently asked, “Which one of these beers is the fruitiest?” That questioned seemed to throw them off, but after some reflection, one guy pointed out two choices. I asked to sample one of them. As the guy put a sip’s worth in my glass, he asked if I was in the band. I was flattered and joked that I looked as if I should be in band. I tasted the beer, thought it was passable and told him he could fill my glass. He reminded me that I still hadn’t told him who I was.
I smiled and introduced myself. “I’m Teresa with the Austin Writers Roulette.” I whipped out two flyers and handed one to each of the guys behind the bar. “We’re a monthly spoken word and poetry event. Our next show is Sunday, July 14th and the theme is ‘Personal Triumph.'” When he asked if we’d set up a table, I said, “We’ve got a canopy set up.” He concluded that was good enough and filled up my glass. Reminded me of the advice my sister Carla told me years ago, “Just act like you know what you’re doing.” Exactly.
Not only were the two guys who were sitting with me impressed, but one of the co-organizers who was still standing in the glass line pointed me out. Apparently he was already amazed that I was one of the few who had been sold a glass to begin with.
Once the beerfest officially began, that co-organizer let me sample the stout he was drinking, which had been the second beer recommended to me. I liked it better; so I told him to let me know when he was finished with his first and I’d go with him to get another. He finished it in two gulps, saying that I’d twisted his arm and we walked over to the nearest beer tent.
As we walked up, I saw a large rectangular tray under the water container, but then spied a similar one behind the beer serving table. I knew they didn’t want just anyone walking behind there. I announced my arrival by asking, “Can I dump the rest of this in one of those containers?” They all said yes, but one guy, a tall black man with dreads, shook my hand for being one of the few people to ask instead of dumping beer in the first container, which held water for the dogs.
I filled my glass with water, figuring that it couldn’t be a bad idea rehydrate in between beers while hanging out in 95-degree weather. I joined the co-organizer in line, telling him how friendly the black volunteer had been. The co-organizer laughed and informed me that he’d seen that guy checking me out and shook my hand just to flirt with me. He said he knew I had something special when I got that VIP beer.
Instead of joining the others back at the canopy, we walked into the brewery to take a tour. The brewery itself was one big room with some large, impressive machinery. I was delighted to hear the inebriated guy giving the tour with his own beer in tow, explain the biochemistry behind making alcohol. One big machine was to convert the starch into sugars. At some point, additional oxygen was pumped in for the yeast to multiply, but at a later point, they were denied oxygen so they would make alcohol. When I teach my students about anaerobic respiration, I joke that if we were yeast, we could get drunk by periodically holding our breath. The other big machine was to boil it and add additional flavors.The longer the boiling, the darker and sweeter the beer, which explained why I liked the stout.
At the end of the tour, I recognized a woman who worked with my school district. I had been initially surprised that out of all those people that I hadn’t bumped into anyone I knew. I’d just had a couple of false sightings. Although she wore huge dark shades, there was no mistaking her wonderful smile. I spoke with her and her husband for a bit before foraging for food. Didn’t take me too long since there were only two food trailers–one for sweets and the other for savory. Since I was reading at a poetry potluck later on, I knew that I’d get several choices for sweets and opted for a delicious meatball and cheese sandwich.
I returned to the canopy and sat down to enjoy my food. Since I wanted some down time before heading out to the poetry/spoken word venue, I told one of the co-organizers that I was taking off and poured my remaining beer into his glass. He glanced at my wristband. His eyes popped out when he saw that it had only one mark on it. He knew that I’d had two beers and since only one volunteer had bothered to mark my wristband, I was leaving with two more beers officially left on it.
To placate him, I stood in line to get another beer for him. When I returned, I emptied my glass into his and dramatically extended my arm to show him the wristband. It hadn’t been marked. He was beside himself. I gently removed my wristband and wrapped it around his wrist since his band had only one beer left. At that moment, one of the guys who’d challenged me to seek a VIP beer told me that I should have given my band to him. By some beer logic, he said that he’d earned it.
Both guys invited me to join another social group that was geared toward professionals in their 30s and 40s. Their next event was to meet at my favorite sushi place for their wonderfully delicious happy hour. I said I’d definitely check it out since I loved eating there and had been craving sushi. They said some final flirtatious parting words and not once did they comment about my menstrating ear!
A few days earlier on July 4th, I plunged into the 6 ft end of a swimming pool and could not equalize the pressure in my right ear. I completed my laps, but once I returned home, the pressure built up to rupture the eardrum,causing excruciating pain. As stubborn as I am, I mixed a medicinal amount of ibruprofen and red wine, took an hourlong nap, cleaned myself up and attended my tango class, a BBQ party and even walked over to view the fireworks.
Looking back, I’m glad that I didn’t allow one nonfatal health challenge stop me from enjoying this holiday weekend, celebrating the birthday of the United States.
On June 19th, 1865 Texas slaves in Galveston heard the announcement that they were free. For this year’s Juneteeth celebration, I volunteered to do a character interpretation of one of the newly freed slaves. Although I read through all the lively character interpretations, I was assigned to by Mattie Gilmore. According to her narrative, she was an unmarried young woman when emancipation came. She reported that some former slaves laughed and celebrated while others cried. She and her stepmother were asked by their former master, Mr. Barrows, to remain on the plantation and work and he compensated monetarily.
What I found most interesting about her narrative was her observation that Negroes weren’t used to managing themselves nor their money. This situation was further exacerbated when some former slave masters did not give their former slaves money when they released them. Ms. Gilmore’s conclusion was that even though they were free, they still suffered. The period costumes that we wore were very heavy and beautiful. I just imagined that we were dressed up in the Sunday finest clothing since this was a celebration of freedom. Yet, I also wondered how they could stand be in such clothing during the summertime. I have to believe that they weren’t as used to creature comforts as we are now or they actually wore a cooler blend of clothing.
I overheard this male actor giving a very lively interpretation of his freeman’s narrative. He talked about how some former masters went crazy after emancipation. One was so distraught that he had a heart attack and died. One has to wonder was it merely the thought of free Negroes or did he predict that life would be so horrible without the power of being a slave owner. After telling my freewoman’s brief narrative to vistors, I bid them farewell and told them to enjoy their freedom. That was a heartfelt good bye since I often think that we take our hard-earned freedom for granted.
Recently, a popular Southern white TV chef was charged with making racist comments, least of which was using the N word in anger. The worst was her wish for a “traditional plantation” wedding were black men were dressed in all white and serving food. This is the third time in my life that I’ve heard a white woman romanticizing how wonderful things were back in the good ol’ days when either slavery or Jim Crow were in place.
As long as that attitude is among our society, we’ll need things like Juneteenth and Black History Month.
It’s been scientifically proven that the idea of race is unscientific. Even when we talk about the “human race,” what we are actually referring to is “species.” (The definition of a species is a population of organisms that can breed and produce fertile offspring.) With the influence of global media, people around the world can share common experiences and exchange ideas. The pursuit of technological advances in all disciplines cause the walls of bigotry, violence, poverty, and despotism to come crumbling down.
Our collective enlightenment motivates us to seek kindred spirits, regardless of nationality, ethnicity, and gender. Instead, what has begun to emerge is a redefinition of “tribe.” Traditionally, tribes have been thought of as closely genetic-related people who share the same customs, yet even within blood-related family members, we witness such a difference of lifestyle, politics and beliefs, the only common denominator is common ancestors. A popular belief is that you choose your friends, but you cannot choose your family. As experience and innumerable examples have shown, just because two people are very genetically similar, does not mean that they are going to get along.
It’s natural for people to gravitate toward like-minded individuals and become friends. For every hobby, political outlook, or passion, there is at least one social group where someone can periodically congregate. The more often the group meets, the more time individuals have an opportunity to participate in group-think. This is the grassroots of tribe formation.
Depending on the tribe, a lot of diversity, in terms of how groups of people used to be categorized and artificially separated, can be reflected among the members. With this phenomenon in mind, I reflect on the many tribes I belong to. I am a member of my family tribe, a tribe of educators, a tribe of writers, a tribe of dancers, a tribe of capoeiristas, a tribe of college-educated people, a tribe of heterosexual women.
Now some may argue, why should I say “a tribe of writers” rather than “a tribe of artists”? Or why should I include the adjective “heterosexual” rather than simply say that I belong to “a tribe of women”? I welcome such questions since, they reflect the very reason why “race” became unscientific concept. Depending upon the criteria, the outcome will be different! I can comfortably belong to the tribe of women as long as there is no criterion of being either married or a mother. Some languages, such as Swahili, reflect this girl/woman bias since the title for a “woman” is “mama” and the word for “girl” reflects having an unbroken hymen.
I like the idea of social tribes because of its flexibility, given the situation. It also shows that people can change tribes in order to reflect who they happen to be at the moment in their lives. Such fluidity would lead us to explore other avenues, knowing that knowledge and experience is not confined to blood relations or geopolitical borders. The proliferation of social tribes encourages a continuous exercise of critical thinking and reading.
As humankind advances, the social tribes will emerge and survive as the result of enlightenment and cooperation.
The annual Christmas trip back home to visit my family, including nieces and nephews, went as predicted: lots of laughs, stories, trivial bickering, far too much food and far too little exercise. Within seven days, I only managed to gain six pounds and do a half set of bikram yoga twice and something that one of my little nieces called a “cheerleader’s workout,” which consisted of many backbends in a row and different stretches to improve doing the splits.
What I lacked in physical exercise, I made up for in creative productivity. I read a lot of poetry by one of my friends. I earmarked the poems which I felt would work in the upcoming “New Dreams & Visions” roulette on January 13th. Then, over the course of several days, I finally completed the “100 African Americans Everyone Should Know” powerpoint that I’d promised to make for the upcoming African American history event at school. Logically, I should have done this over the summer, but I was so engrossed in putting together The Austin Writers Roulette that I kidded myself that I would work on it in my spare time at school since I was only teaching one prep. Ha!
Since this was my third Christmas since living in Austin, I was determined to continue my tradition of giving Texas-themed gifts. Some received jewelry in the shape of the Lone Star state. Others received iconic symbols, but everyone received a gift that was made by a local Austin artist.
Two wonderful gifts came in the form of visits by friends of the family. My nieces and nephew’s godmother came on Christmas day, bearing gifts and sharing dinner with us. Another fabulous visit came the day before I hopped on another plane to return to Austin. One of my Peace Corps friends came over, bringing her three beautiful and adorable children and one of their friends, who’s referred to as a “cousin.” Toward the end of their visit, the youngest child, a precocious five and a half year old started running through the house, singing at the top of her lungs, “I’m rich! I’m awesome! I got money! Gonna take a shower with my money!” after getting a winfall during a game of Life.
I’m certain when I was that age, I didn’t know the word “awesome,” but I recognize the energy and showmanship of the youngest child, especially the third of three. So, from one youngest child to another, I’m going to shout my joy and blessings all the way into 2013!
I faced a little more drama than usual on my annual Christmas trip home. First of all, the famous “Mayan End of the World” countdown came to a heads the day before I hopped on a plane. Since the world didn’t come to end, as I knew it wouldn’t, I finished up my Christmas shopping at a very reasonable price.
For some reason, my plane was delayed by two hours. The weather in Austin was a perfectly balmy day, but I think the conditions where the plane was coming from was the problem. Nonetheless, the flight back home was uneventful, given the delay and all the babies on board.
Much to my surprise, Virgina was not as cold as I’d anticipated. Since it’s so dry, the drop in temperature was not as dramatic as it would have been in moisture-rich Austin. So much of my enjoyment of my visit back home has to do with just simple physical comfort. I’ve not had much use for a heavy winter’s jacket since I left Egypt in 2003; so I rely on lots of layers.
One side benefit of traveling is catching up on my reading. Fellow prolific poets have given me their makeshift poetry books to read and they’ve been sitting on my desk at home. Now, I’m slowly making my way through them. There are several writing projects and a powerpoint that I’m also putting together…I will love the day when I can fulfill my full-time artist fantasy.
Saving the best for last, my parents, other sister and nephew have finally arrived and we all went out to dinner. Now we’re going to relish lots of food, conversation and laughing…the real gifts.
