On Story

Posted on June 19, 2022 by mathdreads

I love picking myself out of a crowd.

For a free event that boasted an open bar along with a modest taco and chips buffet, I was surprised at the small crowd that gathered to hear a live interview with show runner, writer and all around interesting person, Elgin James, co-creator of Mayans MC and The Outlaws. I’d never seen either of his shows, but that didn’t stop me from enjoying his interview.

You just never know a successful person’s origin story. For anyone who even suggested that he had to go through life with an abusive father, street gang and prison to be the man he is today, James said a very confident, “Fuck that!”

Yet, with his background, the last thing he wanted to do was write about it. One reoccurring theme in his life, as he stated in his interview, was no matter how messy life became, there were always women who cleaned it up. That’s the main reason, if he has the freedom to do so, he writes about women. He finds women to be far more dynamic characters than men, which flies in the face of what audiences usually see depicted in film and TV.

After two or three seasons, the emphasis of the show changed and lost about half their audience, which was comprised of mostly men. As the season continued, more women started watching, eventually surpassing the number of men in the original audience.

My main takeaway from his interview is not only to write about what you know, but fight for that narrative to be told. It’s definitely worth the effort to elevate these stories because if we don’t, who will?

Categories: Special Events | Leave a comment

Flower Moon Lunar Eclipse

Posted on June 12, 2022 by mathdreads

I always think I have a crappy camera.

For example, all the pictures for this post are of a full moon, but look like the sun. If I didn’t know better, I wouldn’t know better. Instead, I chose to lean in and try out different filters, knowing one day, I’ll buy a phone with a much better camera. That day will pretty much be under similar circumstances like I purchased my last phone, when it started losing basic functionality.

As I look at these pictures, I’m reminded of how peaceful my new neighborhood is.

This has more to do with the lack of vehicular traffic than anything else. I’ve taken several after-work walks and have varied the route each time. The most enjoyable walks were long enough to clear my head from the day, avoid exhaust fumes, and not leave me preoccupied with being run over.

Being out in nature is its own reward.

As long as there’s nothing to spoil the meditative quality of the activity. That’s far more important now than ever before. Even though my camera couldn’t capture the beauty of the flower moon, much less the eclipse, which pictures came out worse, I’m happy I paused my streaming binge watch to witness a natural phenomenon.

Categories: Special Events | Leave a comment

Angelique Kidjo

Posted on June 5, 2022 by mathdreads

For once, I was in the right place at the right time.

I’d seen posters for this concert, but had no inclination to go. I truly put the brakes on my social life in addition to the pandemic. As I see it, I can’t justify being in debt, since I was underemployed last year, and shelling out money for social events. My only exception is ordering takeout once a week because I can readily control the upfront costs involved with that. (At least that’s how I rationalize it!)

By some miracle, this concert was free.

I’m not sure who underwrote the free tickets, but the woman who’d given the invocation at watercoloring event the week before, had raced around the room, telling us to give her our contact information if we wanted to attend this concert for free. I’d had my business cards because part of my reason for attending the workshop was to network.

Not only did she provide free tickets, but free food as well.

Since Kidjo is from Benin, we had a sampling of Beninese food. Our meal boxes contained a variety of vegetarian food, seasoned deliciously, complete with honey beer to wash it down. I’m not sure what they call honey beer in Benin, but in Swahili it’s called “wanzuki,” a fact a shared with a friend who also attended the event.

Cap Metro provided a free shuttle to and from the event, which they dubbed a party bus. I’ve been on a bonafide party bus back when I lived in Honduras. The only things that made this a party were the liveliness of the riders, the fact that it was free and it saved us all the time and money of parking. (Dare I mention the ever-rising gas prices? I’m paying more for gas than I’ve ever paid in my life.)

The international assortment of musicians performed so well, it was a shame to remain seated. What I didn’t know before hand was that she’d remade a Talking Heads album. Throughout the concert, I kept wondering what the connection was because they’d covered so many of their songs.

I read after the fact that Kidjo had heard Talking Heads music for the first time when she studied abroad and knew instantly that it had African roots. I loved her interpretation of their songs.

After the fact, we waited on the “party bus” for nearly a half hour for the rest of the riders. I could myself losing steam…just like the middle-aged woman I am. Once again, I fantasized about having a four-day work week. If that had been the case, I would have joined the real partygoers to the afterparty at a historically Black restaurant. Yet, I did the responsible thing and went home.

Categories: Special Events | Leave a comment

Create & Heal: Watercoloring

Posted on May 29, 2022 by mathdreads

Allow me the indulgence about how the universe works.

I asked a network of professional women for a recommendation. I sought a woman of color who was a illustrator or animator. I even included two examples of my illustrations from my current work, The World’s Sexiest Dictionary. No one made a suggestion. I wasn’t sure whether the lack of response was due to apathy or they didn’t know of any illustrators/animators who were women of color. Either way, the Universe answered via email about a workshop with a bonafide graphic artist/animator a day or two later.

Just to show how much of a unicorn she was,

Samara was the first Black woman to graduate with a graphic arts design degree at her school. This was in the 90s, but still so recent to be a first Black anything. Nonetheless, I loved attending her session, which was a combination of art therapy, artist interview and painting.

Although watercolor is my least favorite medium to paint with,

I appreciated the enthusiasm she brought to the medium. At least I had a chance to break out with my watercolor crayons. I hadn’t touched them since I completed my 156 rough draft illustrations for my dictionary.

The first thing that Samara advised any of us who were interested in becoming full-time artists was NOT to quit our day jobs. I laughed because that’s usually the first advice all entrepreneurs give everyone. There are so many pitfalls involved with being an entrepreneur that not everyone takes into account, being dazzled by the freedom of having control of one’s own schedule and the possibility of making far more money, doing what one loves. If not as successful, the steady income from a day job is sorely missed as the bills start to collect.

One of my objectives for attending the workshop was to get Samara’s contact information, so I could ask her the five questions I’d written out for a future mentor as a professional development exercise. Whether she ever answers those questions or not, at least I put them out there.

As a matter of fact, I set out with this life-changing mission with the attitude that I was going to collect 100 no’s or rejections within the year. I’ve not actually ticked off how many rejections/no’s I’ve gathered so far, but I don’t think I’ve even received 20 of them yet.

As we say in sales, every “no” brings one closer to a “yes.” It’s a good thing I’m getting into a sales state of mind since my current customer service day job has opened up a sales opportunity, which has the potential for making more money. That’s one of my goals, but not all of them.

Categories: Painting, Special Events | Leave a comment

Calcium Dust

Posted on May 22, 2022 by mathdreads

When I needed a follow up to my standard mammogram, first thing that crossed my mind was, “Yay! I get to to take some more time off.” Up until that point, I hadn’t taken any time off unless I had a doctor’s appointment. A strong contrast to the days when I was a classroom teacher, which was the most stressful job I’ve ever had and needed the time off for survival, mental/physical health and the such.

With my current full-time job, which I work from home, it’s not that stressful, so my paid time off just accrues without me paying much attention to it. Celebrating time off was more at the forefront of my mind than worrying that something was wrong.

After all, many years ago, I’d had a follow up mammogram because my breasts were “fibrous,” or something like that. It’s apparently common in Black women. I figured the doctor was being cautious since I’d not had a mammogram in a long time. So long in fact, that they couldn’t even use my last one as a baseline. I had no idea that I needed one every year.

After the second mammogram, I became worried when they called me into a consultation room, asking if someone else had accompanied me to the clinic. No health care professional had ever asked me that question before.

The doctor and technician who’d conducted the mammogram explained to me that the results showed calcifications in my right breast. Showing my sheer ignorance about breast cancer, I questioned why I had any calcifications if I’d never breastfed. As a matter of fact, I’d never been pregnant.

The technician answered as if I had not just asked a stupid question, telling me that breastfeeding had nothing to do with it.

She and the doctor led me to another room where we looked at the mammogram images. Even though the images enlarged the 5mm area of my right breast where the calcifications were, they still looked like specks of dust.

As they explained the next step to me, I stared at that suspicious calcium dust with dread. If we hadn’t been in a pandemic caused by something even smaller than the specks that I saw, I would have marveled that something that couldn’t even be detected by a regular breast exam could curtail my life.

We returned to the consultation room where they explained what a stereoscopic biopsy was. I’d lie facedown on a table that had a hole in it where my breast would hang from. They’d apply a local anesthetic, followed by a series of injections of the anesthetic before the removal of the suspicious calcifications. At the end of the procedure, the doctor would leave a metallic maker just so in the future, depending on the results, they can return to the spot and retrieve the rest of the calcifications if they turned out to be cancerous.

Before sending me on my way, they assured me there was only a 20% chance that the calcifications were cancerous. Even with those odds, I don’t gamble because I see myself as having bad luck.

At that point, I moved through a fog of worry. I only told two people about my upcoming procedure: one of my sisters and a good friend. From there on out, the rest of life’s worries washed over me.

One thing that I needed after the biopsy was a tight-fitting bra, so my right breast wouldn’t move around much. Coincidentally, I’d already planned to go bra shopping with that same friend.

A lot of back and forth occurred to get the biopsy scheduled because my primary doctor’s office either left a vital part of the faxed form blank, or what was written couldn’t be clearly read, or there was a missing signature. That was cleared up after nearly a week and three attempts.

The day of my biopsy, I drove there by myself, thinking that I’d get the result before I left. That didn’t happen.

Before I talking to a technician, I checked in with the front desk. Part of the process was to pay for the procedure upfront. I’m not sure what would have happened if I couldn’t have put the charge on my credit card. Would I have been as good as dead at that moment? One thing I noticed was the increasing cost with every procedure.

The initial mammogram was 100% covered by my insurance. The follow up procedure cost $160, which was covered by my HSA card. This latest procedure cost nearly $1000. Since I’d recently used my HSA card, I barely had over $100 on it. At that point, I was still grateful that it lowered the amount going on my credit card.

As the EMT previewed the procedure, I kept thinking I couldn’t literally afford to have breast cancer. No one wants cancer, but to have it and not be able to afford the treatment…would I be yet another sick American with a gofund me page for treatment?

I tried to temper my anxiety. After all, going with the odds, I’d be in the 80% who didn’t have breast cancer. Another cheerful statistic was emblazoned on the side of the bag the tech had given me to put my clothes in: 98% survival rate for women diagnosed with early stage breast cancer by a mammogram.

There should have been an asterisk with that statistic, stating if one could afford the treatment.

If my mind was preoccupied with not being able to afford cancer treatment that vanished once the procedure began. I lay on my stomach with my exposed right breast hanging from a hole in the examination table that had been raised a few feet.

The time between the local anesthetic being applied to my breast and being pierced with a sharp object seemed like a few seconds. As a matter of fact, I’d started quietly crying before being pierced. The position I was lying in, along with my breast being held in place with vise grips was so uncomfortable, I knew the whole contraption had been designed by men.

Yet, I hadn’t screamed in pain until the piercing. From the beginning, the doctor assured me that more anesthetic was being injected. All I could feel was my breast being pinched very hard. At one point, the doctor sounded impatient, stating that noting was being done. I could have slapped him. Despite nothing being done on his part, I still felt a pinching sensation.

Once the procedure was done, I lay on my back, traumatized as the EMT applied pressure to the incision. I took deep breaths to calm myself down, while the EMT and tech talked over me about attending some event. They never specifically stated what they were talking about, but it sounded like some shopping/networking event. Whatever they were talking about, it was completely disconnected from the physical trauma I’d just experienced.

I’d planned in advance to have a mani/pedi afterwards. Fortunately, one of my favorite woman-owned nail shops was still in business. The place looked a little rundown, but considering that she was still in business, that was a miracle. She had only one woman whose nails she was putting the final touches on as I soaked my feet in the whirlpool. Soothing relief I needed after a biopsy.

A few days later, I received an email stating that my results were in. I nervously clicked on the link. Initially, I thought my phone couldn’t handle the amount of data to download the results. I raced to my laptop. Same result.

I called the clinic that performed the biopsy for the results. They informed me that I had to call my primary care physician (PCP) for the results. I called my PCP’s office. The receptionist confirmed that the test results were in, but only the PCP could go over them with me. The best I could do was leave a message. Unfortunately, I was frustrated. My parting words to the PCP front desk was, “You mean I have to wait even longer to find out whether I have breast cancer?”

I spent the weekend, trying to put breast cancer and the impending cost of breast cancer treatment out of my mind.

The following Tuesday, my sister texted me about whether I knew the results. This gave me new motivation to pick up the task again. I did the same dance I’d started on Friday. This time, I knew the name of the employee at the biopsy clinic. I left her a message, then called the PCP office. As luck would have it, I was on hold for the PCP receptionist when the biopsy clinic employee beeped in. I put the receptionist on hold.

The clinic employee apologized for the phone tag over the past couple of days. Just when I thought she was going to give me another runaround, she informed me that my results were benign.

A lightness washed over me. I thanked her, then clicked over to the PCP receptionist, telling her that I’d received my results. I thanked her and hung up.

Next call was to my sister. As we talked, I texted my friend the results. My sister and I talked for over 30 minutes as I continued to work. I was impressed how long I was able to work without having to make an outbound call. Fate was on my side. In more ways than one.

With that burden off my plate, I moved forward with my life as I’d planned to do, regardless of the results. At least this way, I didn’t have to strategize how to pay for cancer treatment.

Categories: Special Events, Writing | Leave a comment

Voting Vultures

Posted on May 15, 2022 by mathdreads

Not only do I believe in voting, but usually on the first day of early voting. I couldn’t do that this time around since I’d moved and my voting activation hadn’t kicked in until May 1st. No problem! That was a lovely way to spend a Sunday afternoon.

When I entered the polling place, I spun around in a circle because I was the only voter present. The number of voting workers usually outnumber voters during these non-presidential elections, but this was extra special. In more ways the one.

I always take a picture after voting.

I use it as a visual reminder for friends to go vote as I point to my “I Voted” or “Yo Voté” sticker. Yet in this case, I directed everyone’s attention to the two vultures over my right shoulder in the background.

They picked at a dead squirrel’s carcass.

I texted the pictures to some friends, inviting them to make whatever voting analogy they could think of. As for me, the political climate often does seem as if we are picking over the leftovers of a dead system. If I were more optimistic, as one friend suggested the analogies should be, I would see the present state of things about to replace what no longer works.

The pessimist in me thinks that the people who benefited, or at least who perceived that they benefited, from the old system will practice a scorched-Earth policy rather than allow something more equitable to flourish in its ashes. As I’ve reminded myself and others, no one embraces a future where they don’t see themselves as a successful part of.

Amazing, my optimism does extend into the future. I wake up every morning feeling that today’s the day wonderful things are going to happen or at least get me closer to that.

Categories: Writing | Leave a comment

Photoshoot Happy Hour

Posted on May 8, 2022 by mathdreads

You can tell by the lipstick that I made an effort.

Of course right after work, I wasn’t in the mood to make a wardrobe change, but I’m glad I did. Not merely because there were two rooms staged to take pictures, but also, I loved putting lipstick on for the occasion. I also had my favorite accessory: a glass of red wine. The necklace/earring set was a nice touch too.

I actually spent most of my time sitting and talking.

So, my “poses” were a creative extension of what I spend most of the evening doing–minus putting my feet up on the table. I befriended a budding podcaster and her brother. As I answered her questions, trying not to go too far off the rails with tangential detalis, she remarked that I just go for it.

That’s the only way to live.

Waiting for everything to align themselves is about the same as sitting back and watching the world pass you by. I’ve always been a firm believer in doing things a little at a time, over a long period of time. At least I’ll wind up somewhere different than where I began. Hopefully in a better place even if it doesn’t seem like it at the time.

I’m pleasantly surprised at other opportunities that present themselves once I say yes to something else. Like my favorite book, The Alchemist, states, the universe conspires with you when you make an effort to pursue your dreams. The key is to keep pursuing them even when you’re temporarily dealt a bad hand.

Categories: Filmmaking, Special Events | Leave a comment

Creative Action Performance

Posted on May 1, 2022 by mathdreads

Four months ago, most of us dancers auditioned for a nonprofit West African dance troupe. This rendition of the group’s debut occurred during Creative Action’s first Creative Sunday since the pandemic.

We’d rehearsed for several months.

This was our first dress rehearsal. The choreographer fussed over our costumes like a mom getting her daughters ready for prom. We wore several layers over our sports bras and dance pants/shorts: a gele (head wrap), shirt, lapa (wraparound skirt), belted “grass” skirt, cowrie shell belt and arm bands, cloth anklets, necklace and earrings.

So of course we had to test everything.

One unwritten rule: never dance in a performance wearing something you haven’t practiced in. I made a point of sharing that little pearl of wisdom with everyone. Then on the day of the performance, I did the very thing I’d warned everyone about. Instead of using one of the masks that I’d practiced with many times before,

I switched out the white mask for a black one.

That bad boy flew off dramatically into the wind the moment I started my interpretative dance for “Why Anansi Has Eight Skinny Legs.”

Our opening dance was called Sinte:

https://vimeo.com/705085322

Here’s the interpretative dance to an African tale, “Why Anansi Has Eight Thin Legs,” where I had my wardrobe malfunction:

https://vimeo.com/704692105

Here’s a video summary of our performance on that hot, humid day!

https://vimeo.com/703442906

Categories: Creative Projects, Special Events | Leave a comment

Easter Eve 2022

Posted on April 24, 2022 by mathdreads

I didn’t intend to have an Easter Eve celebration.

After all, I’m a very secular, nonchurch-going Christian. Nonetheless, by a confluence of events, I ended up scheduling a fabulous, life-affirming day before the celebrated Resurrection Day.

In passing, I mentioned my plan to a friend to order bras online. She immediately pounced on the idea, sharing that her bras had also become very shabby during the plague. Not due to ‘Rona directly, but bra-shopping had been a low priority during the pandemic.

She knew the brick and mortar places where we needed to go. Fortunately, our schedules were free the upcoming Saturday morning.

Normally, I have an early afternoon dance rehearsal, but I’d already cancelled that in order to work a paid volunteer gig with a local festival. That gig paid more than my work compensation rate. l also wanted to network. I got more than I bargained for because of that schedule change.

My friend and I had a luxurious amount of time to catch up with one another as she drove us southward to an outlet strip mall. Again, we got lucky. The first underwear place where we shopped fulfilled our needs, so we crossed off all the other places on her list except the shoe store. Even then, she knew exactly what she wanted.

Just in time for civilized people to have an afternoon margarita, we hit a TexMex restaurant and ordered the special. As far as I could tell, it was a standard marg with the addition of a basil leaf, cut strawberries and garnished with a peep. My friend’s peep, fell into the glass, faced down. I laughed, telling her that she was drinking a crime scene. At least when my peep fell in, it was floating on its back as if enjoying the day.

After my shopping and brunch excursion, all I wanted to do was take a nap. I’d awaken a little earlier than usual to bake, do laundry and clean up before going out. It had caught up with me. Once I came home, I saw that my CPA had messaged me several times. I played phone tag with her for a bit before connecting and answering her questions.

My eyes were closed for about 15 minutes when I heard my phone buzz with incoming texts. Thinking my CPA had more questions, I checked. Turns out, the festival volunteer coordinator had inquired whether I could arrive about four hours earlier.

As soon as I walked into the office, the volunteer coordinator asked if I was security.

Of all the questions, I’d never been asked that one when volunteering for a festival. Apparently some groupies had been entering the building, trying to see the band. What she needed me to do was stand outside on the corner and make sure that groupies couldn’t enter the green room from the street.

Inwardly, I laughed. Of all things…getting paid to stand on the corner! Not nearly as much for people in that profession, but far more than someone just hanging out. One of the best things about standing outside on a beautiful day was seeing random people.

Such as the Easter Bunny.

The head of security had also responded to the text to arrive earlier. He was character: a rancher who broke in horses by day, working security at various festivals around the state at night. For this particular event, since he was caught off guard with the early call, he showered in the horse stable.

We swapped stories as we worked our part of the perimeter. After a few hours, he allowed me to eat first. The festival had sprung for pita sandwiches. I ate outside in the courtyard by myself on one side of the building. Normally, I eat while watching TV. People watching was just as entertaining as I imagined what each cluster of people did for the festival.

As the sun went down, the event came to life. I reposted to the exit to make sure that no one left with an alcoholic drink once they finished looking at the 8 or 10 different artist installations. I also directed incoming people to the entrance to have their bags checked by the real security folks. Confusing enough, the exit was all lit up as if it were the entrance.

Within an hour of showtime, one of festival guys asked if I was security. Throughout the day, various people had asked me that. By this time, I was ready. “No,” I said, “I’m just a bossy Black woman who volunteered for this festival.” The guy flashed a nervous grin like, oh no, you just mentioned race. In the meantime, the head of security exclaimed, “I didn’t know you were Black!” He said to me. “Did you know?” He looked at the festival guy, who remained speechless.

Teresa the incog-negro strikes again!

The real security team got into position for the band.

I’d never heard of “Princess Goes to the Butterfly Museum,” but I knew of the front man, who also plays the title character in the Netflix series, “Dexter.”

The crowd was just as entertaining as the band.

At one point, the band played a song similar to a U2 song and some drunk guys started singing the chorus to “All I Want Is You.” Another drunk guy screamed, “Kill someone!”

I’m happy to report that, as far as I know, no one died as a result of that event.

Categories: Holidays, Special Events | Leave a comment

Creature Comforts

Posted on April 17, 2022 by mathdreads

There’re several little things that make one feel at home.

With my recent move, I donated some things, threw away others, but I packed up the majority. Many of my possessions are creature comforts. My entire collection of costumes and accessories, for example. I don’t bother asking when, during this pandemic, I’m ever going to costume myself for an event. That has already happened several times because the plague doesn’t stop cosplay.

It’s probably one of the healthier ways of dealing with reality–escaping from reality for a minute. All the doom and gloom will still be there once I’m finished dressing up as the Mad Hatter, Anubis or Ms Information.

On the other hand, I found a place for the things one thinks makes a civilized dwelling: furniture to sit upon and sleep on, cookware, regular clothes and the such. Even the decorative red throw pillows found a home, much to the delight of the fur baby who gave them the nap test.

Upon the foundation of all the material things being in place, I’ve resumed a productive routine. On the other hand, I’m using this foundation to dream about other things. I have to first visualize myself as doing something else before I take the leap.

Categories: Writing | Leave a comment