Brazilian Music Weekend

By an extraordinary mix of schedules, I spent the better part of this weekend immersed in some genre of Brazilian music.  One of my friends and fellow capoeiristas discovered that a Brazilian band was scheduled to play at one of my favorite dance venues this past Friday.  Since that was the day grades closed for the next to the last marking period, I knew I’d be in the mood to blow off some steam.

She picked me up early so we could first eat Brazilian food at a nearby restaurant only to discover that they were closed until the next week.  We regrouped at another friend’s house who was going to meet us at the restaurant and chose a different Brazilian restaurant that none of us had tried before.  What an excellent call!

I shared a platter of  grilled pork, chicken, steak and sausage that came with a bed of white rice, small pieces of cheese bread, hashbrowns, a too small ramekin of spicy red sauce and a pile of crushed bread crumbs (I guess). Of course, I washed all of that delicious food down with a caipirinha.

Well-fed, but not stuffed, we made our way to the venue just as the cumbia band had finished playing and the Brazilian band was setting up to play. Just as Brazil is a large, diverse country, so is its music scene. None of us had ever heard the band before, yet we expected to hear samba. Most of the music played sounded more like bossa nova. Nonetheless, I danced my money’s worth, including a few songs with a partner.

Neither of my friends were interested in listening to the second set played by the cumbia band, which suited me just fine since I had a relatively early morning on Saturday.

I made a special effort to attend the capoeira music class at noon on Saturday since I’d previously practiced playing two berimbau rhythms, the easiest of the two was “Angola.” The other one, “Sao Bento Pequeno,” is very similar, but I’ve not practiced playing it enough for the rhythm to be in my muscle memory. As a matter of fact, I had started playing Sao Bento Pequeno very slowly and sped up, thinking that I’d finally become comfortable with it. I burst out laughing when contramestre told me that I’d been playing Angola once I sped up. 

Since Angola was obviously the “home base,” contramestre showed us a variation to make it a richer rhythm. Toward the end of the lesson, we practiced my current nemesis, sao bento pequeno.  I’m going to get that rhythm one day!

As usual, I dashed from capoeira music class to tango lessons. On some molecular level, I think my health improves when I play and dance to music. Afterwards, I regrouped at home and then headed out again to listen to another Brazilian band that plays forro. To my ears, forro sounds like the most lively jig music that’s heavy on percussion

The usual suspects were there, including many people from last night. That’s one of the reasons I never mind going to venues by myself since, at this point, I know I’m going to bump into people I know. Even though the weather caused the band to play in an enclosed area rather than out in the open, we all crammed onto the tiny dancefloor and danced until we glistened with sweat.

Normally, I would have felt self conscious about going anywhere else besides straight home, but I intended to drop by a birthday party for the sister of another capoeirista. I thought it was going to be a teeny bopper party; so my plan was to make an appearance, wish her a happy birthday and then go home.

Apparently this young woman just looks like a teenager, but is legal age and knows many musicians since she’s a musician herself. As a matter of fact, nearly everyone at the party played some instrument and/or sang. When asked, I said that I played the “capoeira” instruments, which was as much as I’d admit to being a musician.

Yet, nearly two hours later when the other capoeiristas showed up, we put on an impromptu music roda, where I started off playing the agogo (double cow bell). Some other musicians who were not capoeiristas joined in. Who could resist playing along with a berimbau?

We carried on for nearly an hour singing different capoeira songs.  After breaking out into the second sweat of the night, I finally felt that I could go home well satisfied.

Now that I’ve revitalized my soul, I can face  the last week before standardized testing starts. I’m so glad I stocked up on energizing music.

Death, Taxes & Inspiration

Admittedly one of the words in the title to this blog post doesn’t seemingly belong with the others. Yet, filing my taxes last month inspired me to be a better businesswoman.  I think my exact words after filing my combined personal and small business taxes were, “Why am I not a millionaire yet?!”

Afterwards, I thought about what I could do with the modest refund that I’d receive in a few weeks.  Just like that, opportunity knocked on my door via email. (Bad mixed metaphor, but acknowledging the problem is the first step to improvement!) The group I train capoeira with, Capoeira Evolucao, had sent all the information necessary for interested businesses to become our sponsors. As soon as I read through the information, a feeling came over me that this was just the promotional investment I’d been looking for.

Back in December 2010, I self-published my first novel, Tribe of One. As exhilarated as I was to see my manuscript finally in print, I had the daunting task of promoting it. All last year, I thought the best way to do that was through setting up reading events.  I bought audio equipment and prepared press kits. For a while, I hustled around town, trying to set up readings in coffee shops and lingerie places since I had a collection of racy poems I’d written over the years and had planned to read the more “adult” passages of my book.

My little engine ran out of steam in a few months. The amount of energy and time needed to book reading gigs for myself was not worth the consistently smaller audiences that I’d read to. I wasn’t initially concerned with book sales at the events, but the whole word-of-mouth thing didn’t happen for me either. As a matter of fact, the best tip I got at my second reading was to join a professional writer’s group, which has been a valuable source of information and support.

In addition to training capoeira, I’ve been picking the brains of several capoeiristas who have small businesses on the side as well. Their insightful, free consultations have been wonderful.  Not only that, but in any endeavor, it is always best to be surrounded by like-minded, positive people who believe in me.

Since my business is primarily writing, I’m not in direct competition with my capoeira group although I will also have T-shirts for sale, albeit not capoeira-themed T-shirts. Speaking of which, the official capoeira T-shirt for the event will have my “logo” on the back along with the other sponsors. Since I don’t actually have a logo, my book cover art will serve that purpose.  Just seeing that beautifully colorful African woman on several shirts as well as my on own T-shirt is going to be very exciting.

Granted, advertising doesn’t necessarily mean that I’ll receive matching or surpassing sales, but after experiencing a year of virtual no promotion and months where I had no sells, surely this is a step in the correct direction.

Spring Tango Festival 2012

One of the lessons I learned two years ago was that attending dance workshop blitzes only left me feeling like a zombie, too pooped to enjoy the big dance party on Saturday night.  So, for the past two dance festivals, I just skipped all the torture and just partied at the Saturday night hoopla!

Since the spring tango festival was hosted at a dance studio 30 minutes away from where I live, I was in no danger of attending the long weekend schedule of classes. Instead, I attended the Saturday night milonga, the biggest during the entire festival and the one that featured all the instructors performing.

I surprised myself by arriving early enough to enjoy the first hour of live music, which I had not done in my previous two years of attendance. As a matter of fact, the first time I’d attended this milonga, I’d only been taking tango lessons for two months and didn’t know the three genres of music normally played at a milonga: tango, Argentine waltz (aka “vals”) and milonga.

I equate milonga to merengue since it’s a high-energy dance where you step on every beat. The first time I’d ever heard milonga music was three years ago at the spring tango festival. My partner at the time hadn’t heard of it either and we faked our way through the entire tanda of four songs. Once we sat down, we asked a mutual friend what the hell was that music we’d just danced to.  Of course she laughed at us, told us what it was, and complimented us on faking our way through it.

Thanks to our clueless beginnings, we now have a tradition of dancing one milonga tanda together. This year, however, my usual milonga dance partner was usurped by an extremely sure-footed Argentine gentleman who literally kept my booty shaking throughout the entire tanda. We danced past my usual milonga partner and he was anxious to dance with me, but admired the fact that a highly skilled dancer had beat him to asking me to dance. Nonetheless, when the next milonga tanda came up, my usual partner was still late in asking me to dance, but at least he wasn’t too late!

Even though tango has been the most challenging dance for me to learn, I’ve finally gained subtlety and gracefulness for the basic and intermediate steps. I loved how each dance partner had his own sense of expression and I could follow with my own sense of style. I still have a ways to go until I become one of the most sought after dance partners since I cannot pull off the advance moves.

Last summer, I took a break from tango lessons since I wanted to free up my schedule.  Now, I’m looking forward to dancing tango as much as possible so I can reach the next level.

2012 Capoeira Evolucao Fundraiser

For months, I’ve suspected that my capoeira group had become significantly better ever since we moved into our new studio last year. Initially, we all swelled with pride at how beautiful our training facility was: newly installed wooden floor, freshly painted walls the colors of the Brazilian flag and featuring a mural of Mestre Bimba, Mestre Pastinha and Mestre Rodrigo. Then, faced with unrestricted studio access, a variety of classes bloomed Monday through Saturday: fundamentals capoeira, all levels capoeira, kids gymnastics, adults gymnastics, roda, family fundamentals class, music class and the newest set of classes, primal fitness bootcamp, and Brazilian Beats dance class.

Such a variety of classes merely hinted at the diversity of our members, who absolutely shone during Saturday night’s performance. The show opened with one of our capoeiristas entertaining the crowd with her colorfully lit hula hoops. Not only did she keep her hoops in the air and twirling, but danced to a fast salsa song without missing a beat!

As the next capoeirista set up to spin fire, the feijoda had arrived in a promising big shiny metal pot. In addition to the black bean stew, the meal was rounded out with little biscuits, greens, white rice, ground sausage (separated from the stew for vegetarians) and oranges sliced into wedges.

Just as the food line had started in earnest, the fire spinning began.  From my perspective, I enjoyed watching people make the choice of going through the buffet while turning around to check out the fire dancer. There was definitely something tribal about eating a traditional rice and beans meal while watching a fire dancer perform.

Several capoeiristas scrupulously cleaned the floor of kerosene before two other dancers and I did our rendition of afoxe, a secular Brazilian dance whose roots can be traced to back to Yoruba religion. With the help from one our Brazilian Beats teachers, I modified a West African choreography I’d learned in college.

Accompanying us were our very own band of capoeirista musicians who had rehearsed playing both afoxe and samba in addition to our capoeira songs, which are an integral part of training capoeira. I felt exhilarated not only from the adrenaline rush of performing, but the singers and musicians had hit the mark beautifully.  Their energy fueled me to dance my best. From what I could tell, the other dancers were moved by the music as well.

As we prepared a roda to play capoeira, our emcee for the night, mentioned several things that were being offered that night, including my book, Tribe of One.  I stepped forward and took a bow when my name was mentioned. Another capoeirista had agreed to sit at the table where my book was displayed and handle sales, which was a great plan. What I wish I had known prior to this night was that I could have accepted credit card payments. My capoeira teacher would have allowed me to use his machine and would’ve written me a check for the total sales, but I only found out about that arrangement at the end of the night.

Next opportunity, I’m going to have the proper phone app in place so I can accept credit card payments. One challenge to being a self-published author is learning all I can about being a small business owner. Now that I have a daily writing habit to advance my manuscript, I need weekly “entrepreneur improvements” to advance my business.

Once our roda was complete, we stood in a semi-circle about 30 capoeiristas strong, including some guest players who joined in to support us. I felt so proud seeing how much my friends had improved. There were several fast-paced games with high flying kicks. For anyone in the audience who had previously thought of capoeira as a dance, I’m sure we changed their minds! One of my friends later told me that she’d never seen such a strong (skilled) capoeira group.

Although I love training capoeira for my mental and physical health, I rarely play outside of a performance. During this particular performance, I chose not to change into my pants because we had such a large number of people; so I clapped and sang in support. Yet, when we started samba de roda, another afoxe dancer and I opened the floor by circling the roda, holding our flowing skirts.  She brought a guy to the center of the floor to dance with her. We played our usual samba flirtation where a couple dances in the center. Throughout the song, another woman will take the woman’s place by playfully bumping her out of the way with her butt or some other diversion. Other guys will displace the guy by doing some macho diversion to dance with the woman. This goes on until the head musician who’s playing the gunga (bass) berimbau signals for the samba to end.

We had some of our audience up dancing with us before we ended. At that point, I finally had an appetite. I socialized, ate, danced a little more to the music the DJ played before packing up my things to go home. If I needed any more evidence that I’ve reached “middle-agehood,” then leaving a party before it’s over is surely it.  Oh, I can shake it like I used to, but just not as long! My bed had never slept so well.

Sunday morning, I returned to the studio for part two of our fundraising event, which was a garage sale. Although lower key in terms of energy and razzle-dazzle, many people came out to purchase the used furniture, art and “artifacts” for sale.

Now that the weather’s beautiful, I’m going out on my balcony on the weekends to paint so I can offer my book and paintings–along with credit card option!

Staycation 2012

The one adult thing I had planned to do during this spring break was file my taxes. The rest of the time, I’d indulge my creative passions: writing, dancing, painting, training capoeira,  swimming and doing yoga. The last three things may not seem like artistic pursuits, but without the stress from the daily workplace grind, I found myself exploring different boundaries within the exercise disciplines, from slightly altering the way I kick when doing the butterfly stroke to modifying my grip when I’m practicing bikram yoga. Somehow, like magic, my capoeira capabilities change as both my strength and flexibility improves with the other two disciplines.

I worked on my taxes a little Monday through Friday, with the final blitz of “getting her done” on Friday.  I’m glad I took my time since this was my first time to file taxes on my own as a small business owner rather than returning to a professional tax preparer. I learned so many things, including that, by sheer luck, I’m using the “correct” credit card for my business expenses. I learned on Tuesday that my business credit card provides me with a year-end summary, breaking down my expenses into different categories and organizing the information into several graphic styles. That just pleased my little Virgo heart to no end!

I made four birthday cards for the family members who were born in April. I still need to create more to get better at card-making, but at least I got them all completed and mailed off while still on vacation. I had the brilliant idea to make all the birthday cards for my family and mail them out in January…that way they can open them on their actual birthday and I could cross that off my list in one fell swoop.  One of my sisters laughed at me, but I’m seriously thinking about doing that for 2013.

I completed 1 1/2 mini paintings.  I can already tell that both of them will eventually be cut up further and in some shape or form help decorate a future greeting card. I’m not saying they’re ugly, but cutting out the flaws really helped my last batch of paintings.

I trained capoeira on my normal days, but at least I had more energy for it. I’ve even been practicing a traditional Brazilian dance called afoxe.  It derives from a Yoruba religious practice,, which in turn became candomble in Brazil, but we’re dancing a secular version. As a matter of fact, I’ve found myself in the surprising role of choreographer, or should I say “dance modifier”?  I simply modified funga, which is a West African welcoming dance. I’m impressed that I still remember the sequence.  I’m so happy that of all the things I’ve learned and have forgotten, I still remember that one dance, which was the first West African choreography I’d learned.

This is all in an effort to help out the fundraiser that we’re hosting at the Capoeira Evolucao studio next Saturday. In addition to dancing, I’ll have Tribe of One available since my capoeira teacher is allowing me to sell it in exchange for a comission to the studio. I excitedly emailed the information to my professional writers’ association. I advertised it as a “Brazilian style book signing” and included the event flyer. They were impressed at the packaging of the event. One writer showed me her date book where she’d penciled me into her schedule.

Speaking of writing, after Tuesday’s monthly writing meeting, I was inspired to put a gag on my inner critic and let my imagination and fingers fly.  I had been wondering how all these professional writers could generate pages of material on a somewhat daily basis.  Imagine my surprise when I heard writer after writer admit that the first draft is SHIT! Some confessed to having no dialogue while others stated that their first draft was almost exclusively dialogue with no tags, emotions or background setting.

The next morning, I raced through incorporating a huge portion of the notes I’d gathered when I was in Utila to research my story. I had the ability to do that all along, I just hadn’t freed myself from pursuit of perfection. Another thing that totally makes sense to me now is why pour so much time and energy into a particular sentence, paragraph or chapter for the first draft when I may end up completely changing it or cutting it altogether?

And of course, I’ve managed to grow the overall height of my ever-rotating stack of books.  Can’t say that I’ve read more than I’d planned to since I still waited until bedtime to read. I truly think having a hammock on my balcony would help that. I still love how nearly every book has a tangential association with every other book.  Some of the connections are intentional. Others are uncanny coincidences that I dreamily think the universe wanted me to read.

Despite the fact that I’ve done yoga about 7 times during this break, I’ve come down with the sniffles, which I’m tempted to dismiss as allergies flaring up again. Yet, part of me thinks that it’s psychosomatic. I know this is the last day of vacation and my body’s reacting like this. One of my friends took pity on me and gave me a variety of herbal teas to help me through it.

Every little bit helps.  Just like last night, when I returned from the matinee milonga, I completed the photo gallery of celebrities to base my comic strip characters on and emailed the file to my sister. She’s going to illustrate for me. I’m so excited for this collaboration. I’ll have to figure out how to schedule writing this script into my already busy schedule.  I already know that it cannot be a daily pursuit, but I’ve got to make it a weekly thing.

Come what may tomorrow, I’ve truly enjoyed my break and the rest of the school year will rush into summer break.  Amen!

Social Media Recluse

Ever since I self-published my first novel, Tribe of One, nearly two years ago, I’ve been nagged by thoughts of social media. One of the main joys of self-publishing is the satisfaction of finally having something tangible to show for all my hard work. My major challenge is promoting my work.

I’m well aware of how social media has revolutionized self-promotion and communication and yet…I’m still reluctant to do anything more than email and blog.

I have several revulsions toward setting up anymore social media platforms. The number one reason is the amount of precious time it would take to “do it right.” Since I am a full-time high school science teacher, I barely have time to work on my current manuscript, read from my rotating stack of books and magazines and take a myriad of dance and fitness classes. When school is in session, I honestly don’t have room in my tightly packed schedule to fit in yet another thing that would seemingly take daily effort.

A few friends suggested that if I “did it right,” I could generate enough income so I could quit my day job, which would free up more time. Right. More realistically, I’d sooner be laid off then I’d  approach social media as a means of not going insane with a whole 24 hours on my hands. Besides, setting up another social media platform would distract me from drowning in depression caused by unemployment.

Another consideration was brought to my attention when I bumped into a former college friend of mine. We exchanged business cards. Whereas my business card exuded artistic flair, promoting myself as a fiction writer (since high school teachers rarely have business cards advertising ourselves as teachers!), her business card listed: cell number, office number, fax number, facebook, linkedin and twitter. She was  immersed firmly into many social networks, but the visual that sprang forth was my friend trapped in a huge spider web, waiting to be sucked dry by the black widow of social media.

There is such a thing as being possessed by one’s possessions even if those possessions exist in cyberspace. Social media is the latest evolved technological mutant, promising to make life better, accomplishing things faster, giving you more.  Ever stop to wonder what those improved, fast, abundant things are? Or to evaluate if the quality of your life is truly better?

When I graduated from UNC-Chapel Hill, I started my teaching career as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Tanzania. Among the vast, beautiful, life-changing experiences that I encountered, I marveled at how much time I suddenly had without many time-saving devices.

I had time to write long letters back home, read more books than I ever had in a 2 1/2 year time period, cook meals from scratch (since prepackaged starters were not readily available and usually expensive for a PCV), and journal. The hectic pace of my typical American lifestyle came to a screeching halt when I moved to Tanzania. Doing simple tasks such  as withdrawing money from the bank or buying a stamp from the post office involved being in a barely perceptible moving line. Yet I never wasted time since I knew to bring a book or stack of post cards to write out as I waited.

The irony  of  using time-saving devices, just like using social media, is that I don’t save more time. I just raise the bar on more shit to do within 24 hours. With the few social media platforms I maintain, I don’t communicate or stay in touch better with people–unless it’s the people I tend to see on a regular basis anyway. I figure the “other people” who I don’t email/call/text/see regularly are just fine with the monthly/yearly/need-to-know timely updates.

Now that I’m living in the happening city of Austin, I’m even LESS inclined to add another strap of social media to myself. I love it when I didn’t know about so-and-so’s party or such-and-such’s event until after the fact since that means I didn’t have to whip out my phone, look at my social calendar and debate whether I can fit it into my schedule.

I remember as a precocious adolescent, I’d read about a reclusive writer, living in a cabin in the woods without a telephone. At the time, I thought that guy must have been some grumpy old man who  was probably socially retarded. Now that I’m older and wiser, I  understand his choice. In order to get anything creative accompolished, one has to isolate one’s self in a productive space to create.

In this hi-tech world, writers no longer have to live in the boonies. The boonies can be anywhere by creating a communication void. Imagine, creating a cyberspace of nothingness within the social media fabric.

I maintain my cyber void by using face-to-face communication. Just like being out in the sunshine for at least 15 minutes a day is healthy, so is being around actual live human beings, especially when you can surround yourself with positive, productive, creative people who are happy to be alive.

Of course at any time I could relinquish my social media reclusion and bind myself to many social media platforms in order to promote my work, but that would surely be the day I start selling pieces of my soul for money.

Vatican City Prostitutes

I can truly tell that spring break is a week away, given how challenging last week was. Due to two doctors’ appointments, I took Wednesday off, but I still felt just as drained on Friday as if I’d actually worked five days.

I noticed that one of my neighboring teachers, who is new to my high school, but not the teaching profession, also looked just as drained. I asked him how things were going and he said that he couldn’t believe how things were organized at our school. He’d moved from a high school in San Antonio and just figured that since we taught in the capital, things would be much more organized.

I laughed and said the first thing that came to mind. “That’s just like expecting Vatican City not to have prostitutes!” We shared a laugh and he said he really liked my analogy.

It’s wonderful how such a small, humorous comment can make life breathable…at least long enough to finish out the remaining class period of a draining week.

I did myself a favor on my day off by going grocery shopping after my doctors’ appointments, so I could cook for the upcoming week three days earlier. That little schedule shuffling came in handy, given the fun things that I’d planned to do on the weekend. Plus, I got to munch on my delicious black olive and eggplant quiche for a couple of days before dividing it up into individual lunch containers for the upcoming week.

I had organized for three capoeira girlfriends to join me to see the latest Cirque du Soleil show, Quidam. The tickets were a little pricey, but we splurged in order to treat ourselves to a wonderful show and hang with each other.

Our evening began at my place for a little happy hour. One friend abstained from drinking for Lent, which made her the designated driver for the night. Although our happy hour was BYOB only the teetotler actually brought her own drink. Boxed red wine to the rescue!

We hit the road to the Cedar Park Center, which was an easy, entertaining 30-minute drive since we had some good conversation going the whole ride north.

Once we hit our seats, the “ringmaster” began interacting with the crowd for a few minutes. The show officially began about ten minutes later. That was such perfect timing, given that three out of four of us were mothers who had to settle childcare obligations before going out.

I’d seen another Cirque du Soleil show called Alegria about ten years ago; so seeing another Cirque du Soleil show was long overdue. Just like the other show where I remember holding my breath and fearing that someone would get hurt or drop something, I loved the show and marveled at the physical strength and flexibility of the acrobats.

One of the clowns interacted a lot with the crowd while the acrobats set up for the next breathtaking feat to shame the rest of us stiff, overweight slobs. (I should be losing weight over the next 30 days though since I’ve joined in my capoeira school’s physical challenge!)

For all the contraptions that suspended the acrobats in the air and objects juggled too high for my comfort, my favorite acrobatic part was the couple who balanced in different positions, using only the strength and flexibility of their bodies.

Afterwards, we made the mad dash into the cold, crowded parking lot. Our designated driver had the forethought to park near the end of a row so we could get out in little time. We then rode back into Austin to a sweet little hole in the wall. Another capoeirista friend had invited the group to this place in order to celebrate a birthday and just hang out and have a good time in general.

For $5 a person, we danced to Brazilian and African music and had access to an all-you-can-eat buffet.  I was initially weary about that buffet, but it was absolutely delicious, consisting of mixed vegetables, a beef dish, and a chicken dish. Everything was seasoned so beautifully, I suspect it was all laced with pork. 

I’m so happy to train with such a diverse group of people who are interested in doing various cultural things in addition to capoeira. It truly helps to make the stress and illogicalness of school a more bearable situation.

For Colored Girls

Nothing like February to bring out the Black History in the States. I used to make a point to read books written by Blacks during this time, but my life has become so complicated with schedules that I’m happy to read a little of everything in my current stack of books and magazines.  I just trust an article or two must have been written by a Black person.

Nonetheless, I especially take advantage of the events that happen to fit into my schedule such as the Black History program that took place at my school this past Thursday. There are seemingly only a handful of Black students at my high school; so I wanted the few who did attend to see that there are Black teachers at the school. Moreover, I made a point to shake hands with the school’s namesake. He didn’t remember meeting me previously, but I can forgive the only Black man who has a school named after him in my district.

I enjoyed the dancing, singing and stepping, but I was quite surprised when one of my students recited a poem from “For Color Girls Who Have Considered Suicide when the Rainbow Is Enuf.” I was planning to see that Ntozake Shange play on the following Saturday. The next day I had that student in class, I told her where “For Colored Girls” was playing and I proudly let her know that I was in one of Shange’s one-act plays although I could not remember the name of it.  I described it to her and she recalled reading about it.

As a watched the play with a friend, who had never previously heard about it, we both  related and empathized with the seven women on stage who had various challenges with their relationships with men. Although the music selection contained current songs, one thing that struck me as “dated” was the fact that none of the characters were gay.  Certainly if Ms. Shange had updated this play, one of the characters would most certainly have to be gay.

I also thought about three girlfriends and I going to an event next Saturday. Each one of us could be considered a mixture of the seven women from “For Colored Girls,” which is the power behind the piece.

The strategies that we employ to survive in order to face our adversities and deal with our vulnerabilities reflect a vital part of who we are. Sometimes, it’s so easy to watch a presenation objectively. Every now and again, a piece makes one reflect about past personal choices.

Afterwards, I went to a milonga. Normally, I would have gone home since I was in such a pensive head space, but this particular milonga was to honor a fellow tanguero who had recently past away. I had casually known him through dancing, but I never knew that he had been chronically ill. On some level, I’m sure his loved ones are relieved that he’s finally resting in peace. Yet, what an inspiration he was. Everytime I saw him, I recall that he always had a smile on his face and appeared to be happy.

Now I wonder if that happiness stemmed from knowing that his days were numbered. All of our days are numbered, but for people who are chronically ill, they know not to take anything for granted.

I find myself becoming complacent about the daily grind of trying to do “everything” and when everything is said and done, I can say that I’m mostly happy with all the choices that I’ve made in my life. I convinced myself nearly 20 years ago that the point of my life is to be happy. Even in times of brief unhappiness, I’ve always dealt with life’s struggles and found a way back to laughter and making new friends.

Several times throughout the play, the actresses talked about reaching the end of one’s rainbow. They never mentioned finding the pot of gold, yet my pot of gold would consist of being thankful for what I have, being mindful of my happiness and being creative in all my endeavors.

Water Wench

As much fun as I’ve had during this Presidents’ Day weekend, one would have thought that I actually had a long 4-day weekend like my students.  Truth be told, without the responsibility of supervising students, I enjoyed spending Friday at an all-day professional development series of workshops. I was a little late to the first session, but walked in as if I were on time. After all, if I would have had to teach on Friday, I would have taken the day off since I attended a concert the night before.

I’d heard Trombone Shorty and the Orleans Avenue band nearly a year ago when they rolled up in Austin to open for another band. This time, they were the headliners. Their high-energy Louisianan soul music was just what I needed after two days of grading mountains of makeup work from students who had surprisingly squirreled their assignments away to hand them in at the last moment.

I arrived in the mezzanine section during the middle of the Dirty Dozen Brass Band’s set. I had a terrifc view of both the stage and the crowded floor. Many concertgoers wore Mardi Gras beads, which I had not thought to bring. My mind had been so preoccupied with the end of the marking period that I could not spare half a brain to maximize my concert outfit. I also saw two women who I know from the samba school and even a coworker on the packed dance floor.

I texted one woman to let her know where I sat and ask her if she planned to stay on the floor.  When she replied that she would, I made my way down to the floor to join them. Ha! The person working the door politely told me that I could not join the people on the floor since my ticket was for a mezzanine seat. Somewhere in my twisted logic, mezzanine seating is much better than a standing room only floor; so anyone with a mezzanine seat should have a virtual access pass to the floor. Apparently the venue’s logic didn’t bend like that.

Instead of trying to talk my way in, I remembered my usual complaint about how women tend to be problematic when I work security during Carnaval and thanked the attendant for letting me know.  I returned to my mezzanine seat and continued chair dancing. All went well until an entertainly inebriated woman turned around and shouted at me, “Hey are you OK? I worry about you sitting back here all by yourself!”

Gee, thanks.  Up until that point, I wasn’t aware that I had the whole row to myself, separated from my friends by a cruel interpretation of ticket purchase.  I didn’t burst into tears or anything girlie dramatic, but I did reflect on how I used to be the unofficial social director when I lived in both Egypt and Mexico and to a lesser degree in Honduras.

Something happened along the way to curb my enthusiasm for arranging things, but not for attending events. I made up my mind to do the sociable thing next time and invite some friends to go with me for the next big cultural event, which turned out to be the upcoming Cirque du Soleil show. In less than 24 hours, three other capoeiristas excitedly emailed me back about attending the show. 

Since I didn’t attend the concert after party, I was able to sleep in an hour later than usual and still feel refreshed for the professional development workshops. My favorite things about the day, besides not supervising students, were the chance to win one of 25 raffle prizes, receiving a free class set of rulers and a 12-pack of scotch tape and lastly a luxurious 1 1/2 hour lunch with some of the other science teachers. The workshops themselves weren’t too painful and one in particular, truly helped me understand a new online service that the district has already purchased.  I’m going to get my Physics students on top of that this upcoming week.

Our PD ended an hour earlier than my regular workday.  I celebrated that by making a “Teresa Hot Chocolate” (chocolate syrup, Baileys and Kahlua) and reading several things that I had received via email. Even with that afternoon mini-vacation, I still made it to my capoeira class on time.

My capoeira teacher had us to wear ankle weights and hold 2-lbs hand weights as we did various capoeira moves. Then he picked up a PVC pipe that was about 4′ long and 3″ in diameter and proceeded to swing it at us as we did the ginga, the basic capoeira step that looks like dancing a jig.

Although I was not wearing any corrective lenses, I managed to keep my eyes on the pipe and never got hit–unlike some of my capoeira buddies. One actually dodged when the capoeira teacher swung the pipe in one direction, but rose up in time for him to hit her on the side of the ear.  She was awake then!

After the weight training, we did 3 sets of 40 of my favorite spin kicks, armada. During the middle of the second set, those 2.5-lbs ankle weights truly began to kick in. By the third set, I felt that I was getting too much of a good thing.

The next hour, we trained several acrobatic moves.  Normally, I stay for about 15-30 minutes of this, but I stayed to practice several moves, especially the handstand. We started off attempting to walk on our hands, then kick our legs in the air while balancing on our hands. My favorite exercise was going into a handstand and slowly falling into a backbend. I practiced kicking my legs up to flip over backwards out of the backbend, but felt like an elephant trying to jump.

I slept soundly that night! I woke up, drank my morning smoothie and swam laps. I’m glad that I chose to stop torturing myself at night to swim during the week. Swimming works so much better for me in the morning. Yet, whenever I change one part of my routine that usually means losing something else.

When the weather grows warmer, I’m going to be tempted to paint out on my balcony. Somehow, I need to work painting back into my schedule during daylight hours when there’s a nice shade on the balcony. That may mean buying a shade…

I attended my tango class later on, dressed in my capoeira uniform. My plan was to dash from tango class early in order to participate in a capoeira performance at a nearby middle school. That presentation was cancelled due to a mixup in dates. Nonetheless, some of my male tango friends were amused by my corda.  I whipped a few of them with it.  Well, it was there!

Thursday through Saturday were dreary rainy days. (I know we need the rain, but I prefer a warm spring and summer rain.) I had a few tempting things to do Saturday night, but in the end, I treated myself to dinner and a movie at home and went to bed early. That was a wonderful call since I got up at 5:30. I’d signed up to work at a water station for the Austin Marathon. Sometimes, I just like to do something different for a change.

God must be a runner since there was not a raindrop in sight, but I was still plenty cold. As a matter of fact, my toes did not fully thaw out until I attended my bikram yoga class afterwards. I helped set out three layers of plastic cups half full of water. Then without warning, the woman in charge of volunteers made me the water wench.

Of course she didn’t call it that, but she needed someone to monitor the portable watertank and had the technician who’d brought it give me some pointers. There was nothing too hard about the job although I still managed to screw it up. When the announcement came about breakfast tacos, I abandoned my post ahead of everyone else and got two freshly made breakfast tacos.

After telling a few of my “teaching in Honduras” war stories, I looked around at the church family room where we ate and realized that everyone who had been using the water hoses to fill the cups were inside eating. I dashed out to check the water tank. Yup, it was full.  I walked over to the spigot to turn it off only to discover that it had already been turned off. I felt a little bad that someone else had done my job, but felt even worse when the volunteer supervisor excitedly told me that she had to turn off the faucet because the tank had overflowed. That’s when I noticed the big wet spot on the sidewalk.

A good natured volunteer asked, “You ever notice no matter how much you water a sidewalk, it never grows?”

Yeah, well embarrassment does.  The volunteer supervisor then asked me several times what the water tank level was.  I can’t say that I blame her since keeping the water at a particular level and all the tables full of water cups were the two main reasons we were there.

In the meantime, I joined in with the cheering and applauding crowd as the runners arrived. I marveled at how several of the runners still had a brisk pace, a smile on their face and interacted with us. And we’re talking at the 20th mile! I kept hoping to catch a glimpse of someone I knew, but I only succeeding in thinking I knew some people at first glance. The two women who I knew were running, only participated in the half marathon.  More power to them.  I wouldn’t even care to run 13 miles.

Then again, my life is one marathon of juggling various activities. Like those athletes, I sometimes wonder how much I can take before my routine gets the better of me?

Writers’ Retreat

It’s been years since I headed out of town immediately after school on a Friday. The mission for this getaway was to attend a writers’ retreat.  My regular schedule’s so jammed packed that it’s a vacation to abandon it for a spell.

In less than an hour, I arrived to the resort ranch and immediately saw some other writers from my group.  We herded into the reception area where the woman who had organized the whole thing sat, distributing room keys.

I was so tempted to take a shower to wash off the stress from the day, but I’d arrived late enough to be on time for dinner.  I washed my face and walked over to the dining hall. At least three groups were meeting and the tables had signs placed on them to show where each group was expected to sit.

I normally don’t make spaghetti and meatballs when I cook pasta; so it was a real treat to have that on the buffet. I sat down at a table for four and one woman announced that she had a spaghetti story, which she shared with us. She ended the story, stating that she knew it was strange to have a spaghetti story.  That encouraged me to tell them my spaghetti story.

When I was a Peace Corps Volunteer in Tanzania, I went to the market and bought tomatoes, carrots, garlic, and spinach to make spaghetti sauce from scratch for the first time in my life.  I’d sauted all the vegetables and added them to the boiled and mashed tomatoes that formed the sauce.

When everything had finished cooking, I arranged the pasta and sauce attractively on one of the cheap, bright orange plastic plates. Then I turned to my roommate and proudly said, “Look at my spaghetti!”

Her response: “Teresa, you have rat shit in your hair.”

Indeed I did. The other ladies at my table wondered out loud whether or not rat shit was in the spaghetti. Yet, my spaghetti had been delicious. Moreover, I’d learned during that time of my life not to look too closely at my food. In other developing country experiences, I learned about the medicinal properties of tequila.

After dinner, most of us went upstairs to write. One hardcore group sat in a boardroom setting that had large pleather swivel chairs and plenty of electrical outlets.  I knew that was the place for me. Even though I had read through the three submissions that I was critiquing, I had not gone through each one to make edits. I sat there and for nearly two hours, I went through each line and edited. Fortunately, only one out of the three needed extensive editing and I had started with that one first.

I was the last one to emerge from the boardroom. I joined the circle of writers, sharing their writing experiences.  It was a terrific bonding time with stories, drinks and lots of laughter. I’d heard that retreat for most of the seasoned members was the time that they became a part of the group.

I slept poorly for some reason, but at least I was on time for breakfast the next morning and rested enough to be clearheaded for our critique session. I volunteered to be the first one critiqued and it was not as gut-wrenching as I’d feared. As a matter of fact, I received a lot of good, useful feedback and practical advice. I made some of the minor changes in the moment and wrote notes to myself, but so far, no one has emailed her critiques/edits to me. I, on the other hand, emailed each writer as we’d begun to discuss her submission. Just goes to show who was the Virgo of the group!

After lunch, I hit the road in the hopes of catching my 2 pm tango lesson. Everyone at the writers’ retreat seemed intrigued by the fact that I took tango.  As a drove north on the highway, I called my mother. She always thought that I kept myself too busy, but I don’t know how to do things differently and still make the most of my life.  Plus with a bluetooth device, I could talk and still pay attention to the road.

I felt too tired to reenter my normal routine. I danced tango as best I could, but when I returned home, I napped for nearly two hours. Then, I made my famous “Screaming Orgasm Chocolate Cheesecake” for a Valentine’s Day celebration at school and at my Spanish class. Then I cooked for the week.

Since the night was still young, I went to a house party hosted by a fellow capoeirista and his roommate. I was interested in seeing more pictures that he’d taken during a photography project in Kenya. Just to prove that Austin is truly a small city, turned out that a few of the people at the party, I’d met a few years ago when I’d first moved here.

Some more capoeiristas showed up and before anyone could say axe (pronounced ah-SHAY), we formed a samba de roda, which brought the other party goers to the TV room to dance. There were too few capoeiristas to maintain a true samba de roda, but at least we were all having a good time.

As far as I’m concerned, that’s all I really want to do on the weekends in order to rejuvenate myself to face another week at school.