I finally got to participate in my very first flash mob, thanks to the Sustainable Food Center.  This past Saturday, Oct. 22 was National Food Day Celebration.  Austin’s already very focused on supporting local businesses; so it’s natural that there’s a huge emphasis on buying organic, local food from our “neighborhood” farmers as well.

One volunteer, Andrea, choreographed a jazz routine to “Yes, We Have No Bananas” and posted it to Youtube.  As soon as I saw the routine, I was pleased that I already knew how to do all the moves, but, as usual for me, I had to work on remembering the sequence–nearly the same challenge I have with capoeira sequences except there are some moves that I’m not sure I’ll ever get the hang of in capoeira!

We started rehearsing it last Saturday and although I kidded myself that I would practice along with the Youtube version at home, I never found the time to do that, but attended the Wednesday rehearsal along with the early Saturday morning rehearsal, an hour before the event.

About 50 or more of us volunteers and vendors participated. We ranged in age from about 4 to “mature, retired adult.” It was an exhilirating experience; so I won’t bother dwelling on the few mistakes I made.  I’m just happy that the small child to my left who I bumped into/stepped on a few times was a real trooper and kept dancing.

Afterwards, another volunteer, who had worked with the children to make flags, passed them out and we had a little parade around the market.  We even had a marching band song playing over the PA system.

That was a fantastic way to start off the day.  I returned home to paint, clean up and attend two hours of tango lessons.  We had a substitute teacher who actually ran the class at a refreshingly brisk pace and introduced us to different beginning and intermediate moves.  In between the beginner’s and intermediate lessons, I went to the bathroom and read on one of the posted flyers that there was a samba de gafieira workshop afterwards. This couple’s style of samba isn’t taught in Austin; so I felt obligated to stay after my three hours of tango lessons.  Besides, samba de gafieira is touted as the samba version of tango.

The Houston-based Brazilian couple were very friendly and patient with us.  My heart went out to them since they had to teach in a foreign language, something I’ve not even done despite the fact that most of my teaching experience has been outside the States. At the 4 1/2 hour mark of dance lessons, I felt that I couldn’t absorb another thing.  My partner, who takes tango lessons, hit the same wall. We’d learned four different moves with the basic step being the most challenging since it involved putting the opposite feet forward and back, compared to other ballroom dances such as salsa.

I crashed out on my bed for a good 40 minutes before tackling my daily fiction writing and a week’s worth of cooking. I’m so glad that I’d had four hours to get those things accomplished and just relax before heading back out to a birthday party that one of my capoeirista friends was celebrating downtown.

I’d never gone to that particular bar before and was rather surprised when the guy working the door asked me if I was there for karaoke or the birthday party.  I immediately said the birthday party since there was no way in hell I was there for karaoke!  As a matter of fact, the last time I went to a karaoke place, a friend had chosen to celebrate his birthday there.

Despite the fact that I was the first capoeirista to show up to the party, I must admit that I was highly impressed at the collection of interesting, friendly people who I did not previously know.  That was the first time in a long time that I had socialized easily with people I didn’t already know.

As a special treat, my friend had sent a shout out to all her favorite DJs to stop by and play for a bit to help her celebrate her birthday.  I had already danced for 5 hours; so I was not at all disappointed that not a single DJ played any salsa, samba or tango.  As a matter of fact, I found it rather pleasant just to talk with people and pass out my business cards.

Around a quarter to two am, my day was finally done.  Not a moment too soon…I still slept well enough to make it to my 10 am bikram yoga class. I feel that I’ve hit another good milestone with my yoga practice since my left lower back didn’t pain me as much.

And some strange mood has overcome me, but after months of making a small pile of clothes that I can no longer wear, I’m in the mood to go to Goodwill, get the replacements and then the mall for some inexpensive, going out dance shoes.  My cheap pair have seen better days and are in danger of falling apart when I least expect it.  Not that I care too much about looking shabby, I just don’t want anything to cause me to have another fall when I could have prevented it.  Besides, I must live to marathon dance another day!

I don’t often get relatives visiting me here in Austin, but I come from such a big family that I inevitably have distance cousins in every major city.  One such cousin, who I last saw when he was a toddler, is now all grown up and recently graduated from the Austin Police Academy this past Friday.

His parents flew in from Cascade, VA to witness the start of their son’s second career, after successfully completing a stint in the military.  I figured that I could make the ten-minute drive from my apartment to witness his special day, visit with some relatives and that fueled me to sit through three hours of ceremony.

One particularly poignant moment for me was when Austin Chief of Police Art Acevedo gave his advice to the newly graduated police officers.  He warned them not to let “the job” be their entire lives.  They should always make time for family, friends and outside interests or run the risk of being eaten alive.  His exact words were ,”or else this job will eat you alive.”

I’m currently in my third year at my high school and it’s the worst one yet, in terms of the administration.  It’s interesting how my classroom and the interactions with the students have greatly improved over time, but the administration has continued to gather more weapons in their arsenal to use against teachers.

Never have I heard so many teachers complain against a school administration before.  And yet, at this moment, the only thing that’s preventing me from being eaten alive is my sheer determination to fully enjoy my life outside of school.  Every weekend, I’ve planned at least one interesting, enriching thing to help revitalize myself.

I suffered insomnia two weeks in a row and knew that something had to change, either my attitude or my situation.  I chose the former since I’m in control of myself and can take actions to minimize the hostility and stress that the administration is purposely waging against us teachers. I dutifully attend both capoeira and bikram yoga twice a week to keep both my mind and body running well. 

I usually find some cultural fun to take advantage of.  This weekend it was the Mediterranean Festival, where, to my delight, I saw many salseros and tangueros among the crowd of festival goers.  Although none of us knew much about the traditional dances, we did our best.

I refuse to be eaten alive.  I will live life to the fullest and continue to bring as much creative energy to my classroom as I can while the administration, for its part, does everything in its power to prevent me.

There was something magical about this past Saturday that motivated three different organizers to plan all-night-long events. I can only state with certainty that the passing of the fall equinox on Thursday had influenced the date of the water ceremony that I attended–I’m not sure why the organizers of the all-night milonga or the all-night salsa party chose this Saturday.

I’d planned to attend this event nearly two months ago when I met Yvette, our spiritual guide for the ceremony.  I don’t know what her official title was, but she organized a very spiritual, woman-strong event this weekend.

She, along with her helpers, arrived at Alma de Mujer to outline the shape of a turtle with off-white rocks.  Laced around the rocks was string that had red ribbons tied around it.  Outlining the rocks and ribbon was a coarse yellow powder that I suspected to be cornmeal, but I noticed that there were no insects nibbling on it, which led me to believe that an organic insect repellent, such as a plant extract, had been mixed in with the corn meal to keep the insects away.

In the head of the   rocky turtle outline, was a sweet-smelling fire that was carefully attended to by one of Yvette’s helpers at all times.  One woman, in particular, held the position for the majority of the night.

Since water is a feminine entity, which makes up most of the planet, our bodies, and houses our unborn children, this ceremony was exclusively for women. All attendees wore either a skirt or dress, but as the sun went down and the temperature cooled, we all added second and third layers.  Some women, such as myself, were partially emerged in sleeping bags.

But sleep was not on the menu! Each attendant entered after being ritually smoke cleansed with sage and offering a pinch of untreated tobacco to the fire. Four women were the guardians of the cardinal directions and maintained a small fire, incense and prayer in the areas that made up the turtle’s feet. Some indigenous Latinas doubled as singers and dancers and the rest of us sat in two half moon rows, facing the altar, and added to the female energy in collective prayer.

I enjoyed listening to Yvette explain the different global water challenges from the radioactive waters in Japan to the effects of global warming and the melting ice. She mentioned the killing spree in Norway and how the water retained a memory of that carnage. She then transitioned to how, like the Earth, our bodies are mostly water and how women carry their unborn children in water. Ideally, everytime we drink water, we should say a prayer for where has come from and for where it is going. Fortunately, we all had the opportunity to honor this important nutrient.

One of the items that Yvette asked us to bring was flowers.  I normally don’t buy flowers, but chose some very colorful daisies. I’m so glad I did since during the ceremony, all the flowers were mixed together, but I took pride in seeing mine among the rest.  We were given a bunch of flowers and had to break off the stem so that four inches remained. Some of the flowers were used for the altar. Once there was a sufficient amount of flowers with four-inch stems, two women took cylindrical wooden sticks that were about 3 feet long and started wrapping/tying the flowers to the sticks with string.  All the while we worked with the flowers, songs, mostly in Spanish, were sung.  I could hardly join in the singing, but Yvette encourgaged us to hum and some of the singers shared their rattlers with us. When one song came to an end, the flower work had to stop until a new one had begun.  This strangely reminded me of capoeira’s respect for music. If there’s a pause in music, the capoeiristas circle around until the music starts again.

Yvette explained that the music was a form of prayer that went into the work being done. In the end, those flower sticks were absolutely gorgeous. As soon as the flower sticks had been completed, the singing stopped.  A woman, who was not part of any of the indigenous dance group, let the spirit of the moment guide her dance. We were silent, not even speaking in hushed tones among ourselves. The only sounds that accompanied her dance were the insects, the wind and the rustling leaves. Even the disco that could be faintly heard earlier had ceased. I figured it must have been around two am.

Afterwards, the four guardians were invited to face the altar to pray and speak about their experience. Another woman took the main fire guardian’s place so she too could speak to the group. A woman who had led many of the songs with her powerful voice spoke. Yvette spoke and one of her assistants spoke, mentioning that at last year’s water ceremony, they were at a beach that had been polluted by oil, courtesy of BP.  Two days after the ceremony, BP had finally stemmed the oil leak.

We exited the turtle totem. Most women ate since none of us had eaten since sunset, but I was not hungry at all.  I’d barely drank water, but what I needed the most was sleep.  One of my friends, who was the guardian of the West, invited me to sleep in the room where she and her two daughter were since there was four beds.

On Sunday morning at 7 am, someone came into our room and woke us up by announcing that we were beginning again.  I felt a little groggy, but most importantly, even though I’d forgotten to pack my night guard, I did not have sore jaws. There’s something to be said about the side benefits of healing prayer.

I dutifully reported to the turtle totem, still not having broken my fast.  As much as I love food, I didn’t feel any hunger pains until hours later.  We entered the totem, throwing a pinch of pure tobacco atop the smoldering ashes of last night’s bonfire, but this time, we were cleansed by one of two flower sticks.

As two women knelt side by side facing the altar, two of the older women, each with a flower stick in hand, first laid the flower stick on the top of the kneeler’s head, then ritually placed the stick against various body parts on the front and back. Then two other women, holding a basket of flower petals, gently tossed a handful of petals on one of the kneeler’s heads.

After all women were cleansed with the flower sticks, we walked to a nearby stream to make our flower offering to the water. The dancer/singers and guardians first made their offerings followed by those of us who were mainly strengthening the energy with our presence.

We returned to the totem, but no one entered.  Once the sun was in a certain height in the sky, all the dancers  entered, along with a drum and the drummer led the group in greeting the four cardinal directions, the sky and the earth. Even those of us who were not dancers faced the directions indicated by the drummer. Then women from the different groups (tribes?) led the other dancers in one or two of their own native dances.

The medley of native dances lasted nearly two hours and ended the same way it had begun, acknowledging the six cubic directions. The dancers ate in the totem. Those of us who had not left early, filled up a picnic table that was on the porch of the main lodge since it was pleasant in the shade.

I loved the free-flowing conversations unhindered by male energy. None of us male bashed, but simply spoke of some of our challenges, directly or indirectly related to gender.

Before leaving, I passed out my business card. Whenever I have such a connection with other people, whether I may ever see them again or not, I make a point to pass out my business card.  With these women in particular, we had all bonded in a very spiritual experience.  I especially wanted them to have my contact information.

I’m excited to see the ramifications from the event.

Back in July when I first saw that Sade and John Legend were performing in Austin on my 41st birthday, I knew I was going to attend. Unlike last year, I chose to have a simple birthday celebration instead of a whole day’s itinerary, inviting friends to join me in various activities.

Although I would have been perfectly happy to witness what turned out to be the best concert I’ve ever seen from the comforts of the nosebleed seats, my friend who is far more into the music scene (and has more disposable income!) insisted that we get the “good seats” and as a birthday present to me, paid the difference of my “top price” to pay for any concert ticket.

What can I say? It’s wonderful to have friends who are better paid than the typical public school teacher salary! We had fantastic seats on the lowest risers near the floor seats, but with the luxury of not being on the floor. That way, no matter whether the people on the floor stood or sat, they did not block our view.  I actually find it funny that floor seats cost the most money and, for my temperament, would cause me the most frustration.

The concert was delayed for “safety reasons,” but I was not the least bit upset since I had good company and the energetic buzz of the venue was wonderful.  As a matter of fact, I’d not seen that many black people gathered in one place in Austin before.  Nonetheless, we were STILL in the minority.

John Legend came out in a delicious-looking cream colored suit and covered Adele’s “Rolling in the Deep,” adding his own special magic to it. I’m not as familiar with his music as I am with Sade’s, but I still enjoyed the richness of his voice. My friend, the armchair music critic, commented that the sound was “off.” I hadn’t noticed it except that by the second song, I fought off the urge to put my earplugs in. Afterwards, he switched into more of a crooner mode and I no longer had the need for earplugs and my friend stated that Legend should stick to that style of music.

I sensed that Legend was coming close to the end of his performance; so I trekked up the stadium stairs to use the bathroom.  I figured that missing the last bit of his set was not as detrimental as missing a single moment of Sade. Of course, he sang “Greenlight” while I was in the bathroom, but the silver lining is that I’ve not been so beautifully serenaded while using the bathroom.

A sheer curtain surrounded the stage as they changed the sets between performances. Some of us in the crowd made a joyful trip down memory lane as music from A Tribe Called Quest, Tupac and Notorious B.I.G. Yet, when the house lights dimmed and the stage lights slowly arose, we all cheered to see Sade arising from below the stage.

The sheer curtains shot back diagonally as if they were fleeing spirits. The crowd, myself included, shouted in surprise. Her opening song was “Soldier of Love” and she looked like an attractive soldier dressed in a black pantsuit with stylish black heels–which she promptly switched out of in favor of more comfortable footwear as her first of several dress changes.

Throughout the concert, I was mesmerized by the lighting and video projections.  The biggest screen at the back of the stage, normally showed pre-recorded images that enhanced whichever song they were performing.  The two smaller side screens usually showed a close up of something that was happening on the stage.

At one point, a thin see-through veil enveloped the stage and projected image of a road and trees were shown on the big screen and the veil.  If one looked at a side screen, then the image came together of Sade walking down the middle of a tree-lined road.  Iwas just blown away.

During the band’s “intermission,” the instruments were subtly lowered into the stage as the stage lights dimmed and the big screen showed a mini-movie intro leading up to “Diamond Life.” Although there was no one on stage, the voice over, which sounded similar to a Mickey Spillane tale, entertained the audience.  Iwas riveted since I did not know what to expect next.

I’ve just never witnessed such a theatrical concert that combined so many high tech aspects, but did not seem cluttered or drown out her beautiful sultry voice.

The bar has definitely been raised as far as the next concert is concerned.  That would be Meshell Ndegeocello.  She’s another sultry-voiced woman.  She’s also a sensational bassist; so I’ll see how enthralling her performance will be compared to Sade’s.  I know that it is not fair to compare the two, but I know I’ll do it subconsciously.