As a Meetup organizer, I’ve joined other meetup groups that have interested me, both for the activities and the networking potential. This past Saturday, I met up with other single people who don’t want kids, but one of the tricky twists that made last night wonderful was the presence of two among us who actually had kids! We dubbed them “The Infiltrators.”

Allow me to set the scene: during a recent cold front, seven of us braved the weather to meet at an upscale burger and beer joint. I was fashionably late or on time, depending on your culture, arriving about 20 minutes after the predetermined dinner time. Yet as soon as I walked into the restaurant, I immediately spotted the hulking 6’5″ organizer, who was waiting with our party.

He had not called ahead of time to make reservations, betting on a gamble that he could get a table for ten by showing up early. Sure, why not? It had worked for him in the past. Except that this was a popular restaurant on a popular night that obviously overwhelmed the staff to the point of basic duties being neglected. Case in point: after waiting for 30 minutes, I went to the bathroom, which was miraculously empty given the crowd, and found no toilet paper except in the handicap stall that did not lock–I of course found a temporary solution to lock the door since I am a Physics teacher for crying out loud!

One member of our party abandoned ship after an hour of waiting while the rest of us diligently continued to wait. After all, we had managed to sit down. Not at a table, but still in the waiting area.  It was an improvement. After 30 more minutes had passed, another member of our party, who had been drinking (and, gasp eating!) at the bar, rejoined us in the waiting area to socialize. Apparently, the one table where the hostess wanted to seat us had a party who had already completed their meal and paid, but were still socializing (damn them!). After a few smart phone searches and bombarding the hostess station, none of which I participated in, we went to a nearby French restaurant.

Our second restaurant was wonderfully underpopulated and quiet–until we brought the noise! Ironically, the hostess asked us if we had kids with us. Ha! We gleefully told her no and she sat us in a vortex of families with children. No problem.   Our raucous party of six cleared out that section in no time. The last stragglers made haste toward the end of dinner when our entertaining waiter serenaded us in two different languages, first Spanish followed by German.

Among the many interesting conversations that ping-ponged around the table, the meaning of “singles who don’t want kids” volleyed. One parent stated that she had not planned on having kids and had even requested to be sterilized, but the doctor would not do it since she was under 32 and her husband did not want her to be sterilized. Her argument to the group was that she was now divorced and didn’t want children in the first place; so she should be allowed in the group. The other parent stated that he had not planned on being a parent either, but his interpretation of the group was “singles who didn’t want any MORE kids.”

My vote was to allow them to be in the group since a) they were fun, interesting people; b) were single; c) were done with procreation.

At the end of the chilly night, we had had a good night, ate a delicious dinner, made new friends and no one went home pregnant.

As I approached the beautiful park where my friends’ wedding reception was held, I briefly worried about finding a close parking space since I was nearly two hours late. Yet, the one silver lining to fracturing my ankle is that I have a handicap placard and there was a handicap place available.

I placed my famous cornbread on the savory table and joined some capoeira friends in the food line.  About the only things I was looking forward to in the food line were the brisket, my cornbread, wedding cake and a glass of red wine.

The fun thing about this reception, other than the fact that it was a pot luck, was there was no formal “head table;” so I joined the blushing bride and other capoeiristas when I finally made it through the food and drink lines.

I felt as if I was at a capoeira family reunion. I got to see people I had not seen since I temporarily stopped training.

Funny thing is, I cannot remember having any deep conversations with anyone, but we were all in a jovial mood, which was appropriate, given why we were all there.

The happy couple hired different musicians, most of whom played a genre of Brazilian music, to perform for an hour.

The bride and some of her musician friends surprised the groom by playing a selection of songs.  My favorite song kept making double entendre math/science comments.

I took a chance to dance forro on the smoothest surface I could find. My gamble paid off and I didn’t hurt myself, but of course my ankle became swollen.  As hardheaded as dancing was, I couldn’t attend yet another music-filled evening as a mere spectator.

As invisible as I’d felt the past couple of weeks, I felt exhilarated to be seen once again.

Not only that, but some other women even commented on how beautiful I looked in terms of both my attire and the fact that I’d lost weight.

Honestly, I don’t know how anyone could possibly gain weight while being on crutches, but I do know how one can lose sexuality while being injured.

I realize that my entire since of self is not tied solely into my ability to walk, but my recent resurge of happiness is definitely due to gaining visibility and independence.

Without a doubt, Halloween is my favorite holiday since

A. I say that every year around this time and

B. I dress up as “someone” at the drop of a hat regardless of the time of the year.

This year, I’ve finally linked up with some kindred spirits and made an evening of it. Before going to the Zombie Ball, we all met up at a posh restaurant to get party started before the madness of the whole event.

I dressed up as Viveca A. Fox in “Kill Bill” although I must admit, my favorite part of the entire costume was the sword.  I hobbled a few feet taller while brandishing that sword and the elbow length black gloves added a hint of sexiness to the assassin look.

The dinner turned out luxurious and fun. Most of us were black except for one white guy who ended up getting the worst service out of all of us.  I kept joking about “reverse discrimination,” much to the amusement of all the other blacks, but I don’t know if the white guy in question was as amused. In such a festive mood, I took everything else in stride, even the boot!

I ended the meal like every meal should end with a rich plate of delicious rich chocolate along with polishing off the rest of my Malbec.

I seized the moment to stab a woman dressed as Uma Thurman from “Kill Bill,” by announcing that I was one of the Kill Bill assassins.  She actually got out of the drink line to pose with me.  Lord only knows where the dude in the bear suit came from to photobomb us.

For once, I ran into a friend who I didn’t know was going.  The first two years that I’ve attended the Zombie Ball, I went solo and had a perfectly entertaining time. Now that I had a group to hang with, I see a friend.  Go figure!

We finagled our way to the balcony seats for a breather. Once again, I documented the boot since I knew its final days were nigh.

Fortunately, the view of the show was much better than my camera phone could capture.  Nonetheless, we kept ourselves entertained with conversation during the other events, including the costume contest, leading up to the headlining band. I listened to two songs and then went home.  After all, it was a school night and I just made it to bed five minutes to midnight.

A mere two days later, I dressed in my Kill Bill assassin outfit again to be part of a bachlorette party of women dressed up from the movie.

The friend who hosted the party’s rendezvous point dressed as the nurse and served up some delicious snacks.

I didn’t know how long my recovering ankle would last without the boot (I’d finally kicked it to the curb!), but I was determined to get in some action shots before leaving to hit the town.

Our first stop after leaving the rendezvous point was a small E 6th bar that played an appealing mix of Latin and hip-hop.  I must admit, our little bachelorette party excited the inebriated guys since we were all swinging in costume swords, knives and a ball and chain.

We managed to get the bride-to-be up and dancing although she successfully avoided anything too embarrassing.

I struck a final pose with half the posse before dropping off a few of them to the next location.  I’d had a good night and since I couldn’t dance and wanted to take the 10 am bikram yoga class, I went home a little after midnight.

The best thing about this weekend is that we gained an additional hour, which I used to leisurely get ready for yoga class and organize my pictures.  I don’t know about other people, but I approach pictures as documentation of the interesting times of my life.  If I bother to take the picture, then something productive must be done with it! Just like every other aspect of my life.

This first week back to work and without my sister has been both exhilarating and exhausting. I know that there are certain things I must live through in order to get to where I want to be. As I figured, the knee walker was a big hit among my students and colleagues alike. Yet, without my sister to remove it and retrieve it from the back of my car, I had that added burden.

I was still faithful to my crutches up until Wednesday. For some reason, on the hump day, I rationalized that if I could take three steps without crutches to deal with the knee walker, then I could limp down my apartment stairs without crutches to go to my car. The newfound happiness I had, tossing those crutches in the closet was wonderful. At the same time, I know not to over do it. I still have chairs strategically placed in my apartment in order to prop up my injured leg and I use the rolling chair in the kitchen/laundry area.

Since this was anti-bullying week at school, the culminating activity was dress up like a superhero as a show of support against bullying. I dusted off my standby Halloween “Storm” costume, which is always a big hit. The knee walker added an extra oomph to the ensemble.  One teacher claimed that I’d scared him since he initially did not know what had just went gliding by. A student photographer came into my room to take my picture. All in all, it was a terrific way to end the week even though I’d stayed after school every day to tutor students.  A bit excessive, but on Tuesday and Wednesday, I collectively called 21 parents to inform them that their children needed to attend tutoring.

Saturday morning, I put the first paint onto my latest canvas. I’m always happy when it comes to the first layer of paint on a new canvas, but this was especially wonderful since it was the first time that I’d set up my canvas on the balcony myself without the burden of crutches. I painted until one of my friends arrived to go with me grocery shopping. I only needed her assistance to get the rolling cart, reach certain things and carry the bags up once we were at the apartment. I did as much as I could do from the rolling cart.  As if reading my mind, she offered to take me grocery shopping again next Saturday. I was actually thinking if I’d be strong enough to do it solo.  I’d still use the rolling cart, but I want my independence back as soon as I can. Yet I took her up on her offer.

Nonetheless, I find that people are very willing to help me out if I just ask.  I’m sensitive to not playing the “poor me” card, but later that afternoon, I went to a beer brewery anniversary party.  I arrived early to get a close parking spot.  The meetup organizer was already there, setting up the gazebo. I actually helped by rolling my knee walker on one part of gazebo legs while he scouted for some cement weights to keep it from blowing away.

Once again, I forgot to bring a hat, but I didn’t have to wait in line too long to buy my anniversary glass. One cool phenomenon is that when I was ready to get my second beer and the lines were long, no one had a problem with me rolling to the front to be served. Sort of balanced out my universe when I came home on Friday and two able-bodied people had parked in “my” handicapped space to unload supplies.  Granted, they were only there for about ten minutes, but they’d pulled into that spot when I was right behind them. I was dressed as Storm, but I still glared at them as I limped by.  Thoughts of taking pictures and sending it to the police had crossed my mind.

Then a woman I’d just met at the brewery party, went with me to one of the food trailers. She was very cool about helping me out, stating that she was also hungry and had been thinking of going over to that trailer to get something to eat.  She carried our food back to the gazebo.  I was happy that we could use the knee walker as a temporary table.  I’d offered a couple of people a seat when I was in the lawn chair; so I feel that  I helped out as many people who had helped me.

Speaking of which, the friend who is supposed to come over early to help me load up the car for the Austin Writers Roulette has car trouble of his own.  Looks like I may have to go pick him up and bring him back over to my place. It’ll be worth it since he’s also one of the poets on the line up.

Feels good not to be just a taker!

Usually when a woman in her 40s talks about a shiny new toy, it’s something along the battery-operated, vibrating, adult toy genre. In my case, it’s a knee walker. Just another thing in my collection of walking aids. Unlike the boot and crutches, I’m merely renting this new toy for a month.

I anxiously awaited for its arrival nearly all day Thursday when it finally came around 4 pm–about two hours before we were due to leave for an open mic where I wanted to take my sister to hear me read.  I grabbed the instructions as she laid out the contents of the box. All in all, it wasn’t complicated to assemble the large pieces with the hex screwdriver and proper washers and bolts that came with the kit. 

About the only thing that we needed to put it together that wasn’t included was a pair of pliers. After the 20-minute assembly, which included the seat and handlebar adjustments, I got cleaned up so we could get the restaurant early enough to eat before it was my turn to read.

After 4 or 5 featured poets, the open mic round began. During my turn, I started off making a shameless plug for The Austin Writers Roulette. I then read “Amazon Gender,” which is about the modern day heterosexual woman who lives outside societal expectations. I’d never read it at this particular venue where the pieces seem to run more along the sentimental. Yet the piece resonated with many of the older men in the audience.

The next morning, I opened the front door of my apartment and all the newfound mobility that I’d gained with the knee walker was shot to hell, discovering that the guys renovating the apartment complex had painted the railing.  I’d usually grab ahold of the railing and double up on the crutches on the left and hop down one stair at a time. Thank goodness, once again, my sister was with me.  She had to stand on a step below me so I could place and hand on her shoulder and hop down.

With that hurdle down, I drove us to the hospital for the post-op appointment.  I’d feared the worse, but when the bandages and temporary cast came off, my ankle was not bruised nor swollen.  Even the doctor was impressed at how healed it looked. For the first time since the ordeal had begun, she gave me good news: I would start physical therapy a week early if I kept up the good work.

I returned to my place, after the rain had poured on the dampened railing, propped up and iced my ankle now that all that separated it from the outside world was an ace bandage.  Not having a cast or boot on truly made my left leg feel lighter, less burdensome. What a luxury.

We got lucky with parking at the gallery opening we attended. Even the rough parking did not stop me from enjoying the latest collection. Normally, in addition to viewing the art, I would also hit the corporate-sponsored bar and catered food.

This time around, I could fix a small plate and once I finished, I got a glass of the juice that they were mixing with vodka.  I told my sister she should try the cocktail since they were usually good.

I’d originally patted myself on the back for actually having more than one event lined up a week after surgery, but the second stop on Friday did me in.  A friend had invited me to her birthday dinner party without remembering that I could not walk down the steep set of stairs where the dining area was.  When I asked the hostess if they had an elevator, she told me with all cheerfulness that I had to go around the block and go down the wheelchair ramp.

After surviving that, I made a point to wish my friend a happy birthday before cussing her out for having her birthday at a damn near wheelchair inaccessible restaurant. She apologized all over herself.  Then I realized that her mother was sitting across for her! To add insult to injury, half of the capoeiristas who came to the celebration, dutifully reported to the first table they came to without even bothering to walk their two healthy legs over to me and speak.

My sister just chalked it up to the fact that they were “young,” but I think late 20s to mid-30s is old enough to know better.

The next night, we attended a fundraiser where I’ve taken tango, Spanish, and samba lessons. We got there early enough to get a choice table to prop up my leg.

This was probably the most varied show that my sister had seen so far.  The kids were the most entertaining dancing cumbia.
And samba.

And of course tango!

And then the showstoppers: the two tango teachers.

Now for the first time since I’ve lived in Austin, I finally made it to The Pecan Festival…during the rain and with one and a half legs! The point is that I made it with my shiny new toy. And this was after treating my sister to a nearby popular brunch place. About three more weeks to go and then my shiny new toy goes back to where it lives.

The time had finally arrived to repair my fractured fibula.  I’d already become quite good at maneuvering my crutches around my apartment, up the apartment stairs and rolling around my classroom in a wheeled chair–not an actual wheelchair. I’d furiously planned and written two weeks of lesson plans for my science classes and had picked up my sister from the airport.

We had to be at the hospital around 6 am, allegedly so they could put in a pain block behind my left knee. Yet, we waited around about an hour since the front desk didn’t realize that I was getting a pain block. Nonetheless, we were on time and prepared. I even wore a dress to make getting dressed after the surgery easier.

I like the way it looks as if I’m checking into a fancy hotel, which was sort of the feeling when we were escorted to room 7.  I changed into the over washed and faded hospital gown and clashing bright yellow socks with white rubber grips on both the bottom and top of the foot.

I kept introducing my friend who came along to drive us back home as the “bone-breaker” since I’d tripped over her leg during that faithful Labor Day capoeira class. She took it all in stride–since both her ankles worked very well and she has a terrific personality.

Even though my previous surgical experience had been the removal of my wisdom teeth, I was not nervous at all as my surgical team cheerfully introduced themselves to me and made conversation, with the main topic of how I broke my ankle. As a matter of fact, one of the checklist questions was having me explain what procedure I was having done and on which body part. When the anesthesiologist found out that I was a capoeirista, he said he’d make sure that I would not experience any pain since I could beat him up.

In the operating room, before all the drugs kicked in, I talked about how I’d told my students I’d be their bionic teacher. One member of the surgical team agreed that I could use my reinforced ankle to kick their butts in shape.  I corrected him, saying that I only needed to give them my teacher look.  My surgeon seconded that by saying, “Yeah, she’s tried that on me a couple of times.”

In retrospect, I’m glad there were no hard feelings about that.  She did a beautiful job on my bionic ankle. I cannot wait to dance, play capoeira, do yoga and walk with it.