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.

Super Saturday

I once joked that it was a good thing that February 2012 had an extra day since I’d probably have something scheduled every single day before the month arrived.  February has arrived and my prediction did not come true, but that’s only because a few things are scheduled on the same day…like this past Saturday for example.

I used to have a “swim day” sketched into my weekly schedule. For the past three weeks, I’ve swum on three different days, with this past workout happening yesterday. I even debated whether I should do it since I was going to capoeira music class, tango, a baby shower and then for most of the night, Carnaval.

Of course, since I’m 41, my main worry was would I have enough time to take a nap before Carnaval! My music class turned into an informational meeting about our security duty at Carnaval. My capoeira group has been forming a roda around the samba school and drummers for the past couple of years in order to keep over zealous partygoers from disrupting the show. Although my capoeira teacher gave us a quick lesson in how to do a basic takedown, I assured him that women were the worst offenders since guys tend to be polite–even if drunk.

Tango class was jam-packed with beginners.  It was nearly a cattle herd rather than line of dance. I’ll redeem myself this coming Thursday during the intermediate class.

I eventually found where the baby shower was taking place and was pleasantly surprised to see two women who used to train capoeira. As a matter of fact, the mother-to-be was also a capoeirista.

I returned home with just enough time to change clothes, put on a little eye makeup and my fun Halloween false lashes and head over to a pre-carnaval party with several other female capoeiristas who were ambitious enough to make their own theme-based costumes. This year’s theme was The Wizard of Oz.

One of the ladies had a witch’s hat; so I borrowed it for the night. I got in “line” to have my makeup done by one of two women there who were makeup and costuming enthusiasts. Although my on-the-fly costume wasn’t as flashy as theirs at least I wasn’t plain Jane capoeirista.

We walked over to the venue and miraculously all 26 capoeirists were on time. As usual, the show was spectacular and I only had to contend with one hostile, older black female during the first show.

By the time the second show rolled around, the crowd had swelled to over 5000 people and we had a time opening up the space even though we had barricades to help us.

Afterwards, all the female capoeiristas who had costumes changed into them and we formed an unofficial samba de roda and danced until the cops asked us to leave around 2 am. I had tried to get someone to walk me to my car about 30 minutes prior to that, but everything worked out.

I knew upfront that I wouldn’t make my usual Sunday 10 am bikram yoga class, but the noon class was wonderful. At least I reset my spine just in time for another fun-filled week.

Distractions from Happiness

I’ve had quite the dramatic weekend, starting on Friday when I discovered that I could no longer enter “last minute,” ie “late,” grades electronically since the deadline had already passed.  I’d been marking furiously to complete my short stack of grades only to be locked out of the electronic gradebook. I took the first of several deep breaths that I would take this weekend, recalibrated my expectations and drove to the gym.

Despite my busybody schedule, I always manage to fit in swimming at least once a week. This past week’s host of juggled activities left Friday as the best day to swim. In this case, things worked at well since a good, hard swim would be just the thing to unwind my nerves. Just driving to the gym was therapeutic since I was no longer at work. Even though work was on my mind, being out of that environment was a step in the correct direction.

I swam my usual twenty-lap routine, which consisted of three sets of freestyle,  backstroke, breastroke, elementary backstroke, butterfly, bassackwards, and sidestroke. Fortunately, it was a good workout, complete with a shower since I came home to discover that there was no hot water.

No problem. I warmed up a pizza, repacked my swim bag and worked on my writing until my pizza was ready. While eating dinner, I watched a movie about three corporate executives who’d been “downsized” and they were struggling to reinvent themselves in order to find a new career.  In the end, one guy committed suicide, another guy started his own business and the remaining guy worked for the new business owner.

 Since suicide isn’t an option for me and I cannot visualize having another boss once I finally exit the classroom, the character that spoke to me was the one who started his own business. Of course in the movie, that guy already had the assets to launch his own business, including previous business experience in the field that he was starting.  In a way, so do I. I’ve just not fully embraced the idea of being my own boss.

Saturday, just before heading out to a mid-morning salsa aerobic class at a dance studio, I discovered that I no longer had to worry about the lack of hot water since there was no water! I quickly packed a post-workout bag so I could drop by the gym to take a shower after the aerobics class. That decision was pretty automatic since, unfortunately, I’ve been in the no hot water or no water at all situation several times since moving to Austin.

In the meantime, the internet was down; so I could not even send my writers’ critique group a last minute reminder that we were meeting at my apartment on Sunday. I figured it was just as well since I may not have any water by then!

I normally don’t attend a salsa aerobics class, but I  had rearranged my Saturday routine in order to see the 2 pm showing of  “Wicked.” The best I can say is that I survived that entertaining salsa aerobics class and dashed to the gym. I took the fastest shower that would still get me decently clean, drove home, whipped up something to eat and drove to the theatre.

Thank God I live a few minutes from UT. I had no problem finding a nearby parking garage that charged a reasonable rate.  As a matter of fact, the only challenge was finding the Bass Concert Hall itself. None of those buildings had the theatre name on them and no “Wicked” advertising could be seen until one entered the correct building!

The best thing about arriving 10 minutes to showtime was that there was no line at “will call.”  The time I saved there was readily invested in the women’s bathroom line.  An usher gave me the heads up to use the women’s bathroom on the third floor, which proved to be faster.

I breathed deeply while walking coolly into the theatre with plenty of time to spare. I guess it’s unusual for someone to attend a musical by herself since some people had taken the liberty to use my empty seat for their purses and coats.  I thanked them for keeping my seat warm. 

As soon as the show began, I became swept up in the music, dance, costuming and witty dialogue.  Very few experiences teleport me to my childhood, but “Wicked” had that wonderful effect.  I loved learning the backstory of the Wizard of Oz characters.  For three hours, the challenge of my life was paused…

Only to pick up where it had left off once the play was over! 

I’d planned to meet someone for dinner at a nearby sushi restaurant.  After thirty minutes of walking around, I finally met up with her on the street and we discovered that the place we’d planned to eat was closed on Saturdays.

We hopped in my car and I drove us to another restaurant that I knew would be open and delicious. That popular Mexican watering hole was packed and we ended up eating at the bar.  Not the ideal place, but we weren’t in the mood to wait for a table.  The whole point of our meeting was for her to pitch some money-making scheme to me.  She was politely evasive every time I asked what she did for a living, preferring to hear more about my background.

I thought that she was not going to make a sales pitch since we had already finished our drinks and dinner, but then, she ultimately clued me in to what she was selling: financial services, including insurance. I figured it was something along those lines. I was noncommittal, but agreed to read over the literature she’d given me.  After all , one way to reinvent myself is by doing something that I’ve never done before.

The cold water had returned by the time I came home. I had picked up 5 gallons of water before returning home just in case. I’m quite sure that if I had not bought water, then the water would have still been shut off. Nonetheless, I know that I didn’t waste my effort since there will surely be another time when the water is unexpectantly shut off due to leaky pipes or some other mishap.

 I started making an Italian vegetable and bean soup for my writers’ critique group. Since buying myself a high-powered blender for Christmas, I’ve been excitedly trying out new things to do with it.  This cooking challenge was chopping some of the vegetables rather than blending them completely to a smooth or creamy texture. After all the vegetables and spices were blended and thrown into the pot, the soup had that “thrown into the pot” quality.

I’d watched enough competitve cooking programs on the food network to know that every budding awesome chef does whatever he/she can to save the dish. I strained the excess water out of the soup, threw in a cup of bulgur and concluded that I needed to buy another can of beans to add to it. While I was at it, I’d buy fresh oregano since I’d originally forgotten to do so.

Saturday night, part of my dreaming montage included me turning on the hot water and it flowing with abandon. I woke and optimistically tested the hot water, based on what I hoped to be a prophetic dream. A sickening gasp sounded from the hot water faucet.  Silly me!

I got ready for my bikram yoga class, taking less time than usual in order to pick up the extra soup ingredients.  I ended up at yoga class well before time and got a good spot.  Continuing my challenging streak, the good spot was retracted when another yogi put his mat right in front of mine. Granted, the room was packed, but normally I can still see myself in the mirror. 

Not only did that guy block my reflection, but he was not attractive to look at.  Another theme in my life is that the men I’d love to look at are never in viewing position and the men I’d never look at twice are in full view!  A far more attractive man had positioned himself behind me, but since he’d come in later to set up his mat, he had full view of himself.  I tolerated not seeing my reflection for the first four movements, but by the time the first balance-on-one-leg position came around, I politely asked the woman beside me to scoot over so I could see myself. Although I blocked the attractive guy, he managed to reposition his mat as well.

To my delight, I did most of those yoga positions better than I’d ever done.  Ironically, my mind had volleyed thoughts concerning my future career, the water situation, cleaning up my apartment for the group and the lacking soup. Next thing I knew, bikram class was over and I had not entered a “yogi” state of mind.

I showered and returned home to get things in order as best I could before the writing group came over. My first task was laundry.  The sole reason I started doing laundry on Sundays and Wednesdays was to wash my sweat-drenched cloth yoga mat.  It just made good sense to clean up my apartment as well.

I added the extra beans and fresh oregano to the soup, which had magically transformed into something delicious overnight. The bulgur grain had absorbed the extra liquid and the texture and taste were delightful. I still added red pepper since I needed a little kick to the soup.  If I were making the soup just for myself, I would have added far more hot spices.

I fussed around my apartment, complete with polishing the furniture and getting the card table out of the storage room. Everything was all set. About a quarter after two, one of the writers called to tell me that she would not make it.  We talked for fifteen minutes. I continued working on my writing while waiting for the other two.

After an hour past the time we should have started, I figured they had forgotten and just ate by myself while streaming one of my favorite TV shows.  (I do love how I can fit shows into my schedule rather than scheduling my life around them.) The soup that I had worried so much about, turned out fantastic.

When I washed up my dishes, I turned on the hot water faucet out of habit. Just like my dream had predicted, the hot water flowed. Unbelievable.

So, my weekend has come around full circle with hot water and internet. Just in time for work tomorrow. 

I Wanna Be a Comic Stripper When I Grow Up!

Last night, I attended a salsa-themed birthday party for two friends.  Most of the attendees were salseros who I’ve known since moving to Austin, but only see every blue moon.  So, as social custom dictates, we all greeted each other and inquired what the other had been up to since we last saw each other. I joyfully told people, especially men, that I had recently decided to be a comic stripper.

The light that briefly flashed in their eyes was totally worth the juvenile manner of saying that I’m researching about how to be a cartoonist.  They shared their vision of me being on the pole, telling jokes and removing clothes. One guy even suggested that I could have punchlines tattooed on my body; so if a joke bombed, I’d at least have the entertainment factor of removing some clothing to help the joke out.  Of course, I didn’t bother to point out the problem of having a bad punchline or any punchline TATTOOED to some area of my body.

One male friend warned/teased me that I was making a big mistake to pursue stripping and encouraged other guys to dissuade me from being a comedic stripper. He actually had more fun with my latest creative endeavor than I did.

Women, on the other hand, completely got the joke behind my “job title” and knew that I was talking about creating a comic strip. Some even asked about the subject matter. 

I believe that most of my creative outlets begin with a need to express an idea, whether it’s a story or blend some luxurious paint together to bring forth an image from my mind to the present as much as my skills will allow. I birthed this comic strip idea to vent my frustrations with the state of public school education.

Nonteachers tend to think that the main source of any teacher’s frustration must be the students, but challenging students are the easiest situation to deal with. The growing emphasis on standardized testing, a shrinking educational budget and increasing classroom size are all easily more challenging to deal with singularly, but they don’t take turns. Their combined effects destroy the so-called “rigor” for which the educational system strives. I’ve heard repeatedly how less money, more students, fewer teachers and more standardized testing will lead to a more rigorous education.

Now it’s long overdue to bring this farce to a comic strip. Why should I allow such good material to keep me up at night, tormenting me with its sheer disregard of logical sense when I could easily type up a comic strip script?  

I’ve written one script so far and my first challenge will be to end every strip with humor. I want the silver lining to be humor.  With a little humor, I will sleep better at night and my future readers will more than likely tell the “joke” to others and hopefully engage in conversation about the educational concern I’m discussing in the strip.

A few people at the birthday party asked me about the financial viability of being a cartoonist.  I just smiled and told them that I was just excited to have a new creative pursuit.  I totally believe that as long as I do something I love, everything will work out.

My Last Stupid Act of 2011

Although I thoroughly enjoyed the week I spent with my family for Christmas, I rushed back to Austin in order to celebrate New Year’s Eve.  Part of my preparation, besides attending a few bootcamps to work off the two-desserts-a-day-and-sedentary lifestyle that I had embraced while visiting my family, I went to Goodwill in order to get an inexpensive outfit.

In my haste of rushing around town running various errands, I pulled into the Goodwill parking lot around dusk, which was about a quarter after 5 and dashed into my favorite thrift store. I had a few miscellaneous items to get before looking at the fancy dresses. That only took about ten minutes then I got down to business for the next hour.

Since I was going to a milonga, I wanted something elegant, but I wanted to avoid the cliche tango color combination of red and black. All red would have been fine, but I’ve been trying to avoid buying all black outfits since about once every few years, Mom buys me a black dress anyway.  I selected a variety of bright, beautiful colors and dresses of different lenghts, but among all of the styles, the two must haves were both silk.

One, which I knew would be part of my NYE outfit was a creamy dark brown silk skirt that had a flirty ruffled slit up the right side. I already had an elegant white sleeveless top to go with it–a previous Goodwill purchase! The other silky outfit was a light green dress that had an attractive rayon patterned shell over it, which also looked fantastic and I visualized wearing when I see “Wicked” later in January.

As I walked to my car, beaming with pride at yet another good forging at Goodwill, I was mildly annoyed when I saw that some “vendor” had left a flyer under my windshield wiper. I hate that since it always makes me panic initially since it looks like a ticket. Once I reached my car, I retrieved the flyer, glanced at it and saw that my initial panic was correct: it was a parking ticket.  I looked in front of my car, lo and behold, there was the handicapped sign just as clear as day even at night!

It was as if my hurry to dash into Goodwill had blinded me from the sign.  I read the ticket anxiously to see what the fine was, but instead, I had to call the Justice of the Peace’s office to find out the fine. I’d received the ticket at 5:45, which was 45 minutes after their office had already closed. I was pretty anxious to get the situation resolved since the back of the ticket warned that I may be fined up to $500.  My jaw dropped.

I called on Jan. 2nd and of course the office was closed.  I called on Jan. 3rd and wished the woman who answered the phone a happy new year.  She wasn’t having any of that pleasant greeting shit.  She made me get straight to the point.  I read the ticket number and she said there wasn’t any record of it in the system.  I had to call back the next week.

I promptly called around 8 AM the following Monday.  Still no record in the system.  I was becoming a little hopeful that it would get lost in the system.  This woman asked me what the parking violation was.  When I told her, she said that I might as well send in a certified check or money order for $500.  I protested that since I was a first time offender that I should get a lesser fine.  She then told me that if I wanted to contest the charges, then I had to check the box that read “Not Guilty” and wait for a court date.

According to our screwed up legal system, you’re either guilty or not guilty, but there’s no “I agree I’m guilty, but since it’s my first time, can I pay less than the full violation fee?”  She told me that she could not give me legal advice.  If I wanted to pay less than the $500 amount, then I had to go to court.

I hung up and angrily filled out the back of the ticket and over the next few days, I ran through my mind how I was going to approach going to court. During my deliberation, I decided to email three male friends who also live in Austin and I figured that any one of them had either done the same thing or knew someone else who had.

Two of them replied within 24 hours that not only would I not be shown leniency, I’d lose both time and money. I spent the next several days figuring out how I was going to cough up $515 (yes, a$15 court fee although I didn’t go to court!). I then remembered that I had another account.

So my new scheme was to get some money out of that account, get the rest from the other account and then go to a third place to get a money order.  Afterwards, I went to a mail service store to send the money order via registered mail.  The last thing I was going to go through was some “check got lost in the mail” bullshit.

Throughout the hour and a half of getting all that done, I walked around looking like someone who was at a funeral.  I’d just paid off Christmas, 6 months worth of insurance and now that. Thank God my next task was going to capoeria music class.

The combination of drumming, singing and feeling the rhythm going through me helped get over my blues of paying the most for a Goodwill outfit or any outfit in my entire life! Then followed by tango class.

The one silver lining is that now that I don’t have any going out money for the month of January and perhaps February, I magically have more time to dedicate to my latest creative scheme: being a political cartoon stripper.  I LOVE the sound of that.

Budding Cartoonist

I can hardly ever retrace the path of my creative ideas, but as far as my latest one, I know I was swimming. If I care to go back a little further, I had checked out two books the Saturday before I’d gone swimming. One was “A History of Mathematics” by Carl B. Boyer and the other was “How to Draw Comics” by Stan Lee. Strange mix?  Not really, if you know my main creative writing endeavor!

I’ve been working on my second novel, “The Adventures of Infinity and Negativa” for the past year.  The two title characters are mathematical characters who I visualize as two larger-than-life black female superhero types. They’re not superheroes in the sense of “saving” anyone, but I visualize them drawn in that superhero style.

Somehow, in the course of writing my second contemporary novel, these two fantasy characters entered the scene. Although my drawing abilities tell me that I will have to eventually hire a graphic artist to render Infinity and Negativa at a professional level, I’m still having fun with the newfound motivation to sketch.

I’d started taking a two-hour oil painting class when I lived in Honduras back in 2006.  I still continue the habit–at least when the weather is pleasant.  When it’s too cold, I don’t bother painting on my wonderful little balcony.  Instead, I sketch out things that I’ll eventually paint when the weather improves.

What makes this sketching season so special is that I’m bringing my characters to life, given my limited abilities! As I excitedly read Lee’s inviting, encouraging book, geared toward budding cartoonists, such as myself, I hit the golden tip that can catapult my dream into a reality even faster: there’s a free on-line program that will help me with the illustrative aspects of making my own cartoon strip or graphic novel form.

So, while I swam, my thoughts swirled around how I could use that program to insert graphic depictions of Infinity and Negativa then embed that directly into the manuscript. Then, my thoughts drifted back to my classroom situation.  I used to pour so much of my creative energy into my classroom because I had the freedom to do so. Now, it’s all I can do to assess, analyze data, create another assessment and keep on that tedious high-stakes testing gerbil wheel.

Then it happened. My creative writing/illustrative idea crossed with my challenge of being creative in the classroom.  First up, I thought about how my students would love the idea of doing a science research project, summarizing their results in and on-line comic strip format.  Then, another tantalizing idea came to me: I could use the program to help express some of the challenges that I have as a teacher. A comic strip based on the challenges of a public school classroom teacher! 

As usual, I have to somehow find the time to put the idea into action since I’m such a busybody that I scarcely have time to do every creative idea I can think of. At the same time, the writing aspect of this new endeavor will not be too difficult since I’d base it mostly on my teaching experiences since I hit the Lone Star State.

I finished up my swimming workout, feeling far more than physically energized. I have to get over the new technology hump and then see how far I get from there. As far as my manuscript is concerned, I’m still working on it every day until it’s ready for editing. Yet, I’m not a one-trick pony; so I have to keep my mind sharp on many creative aspects. 

NYE’s Revelry 2011

As I busied myself washing clothes and unpacking from my weeklong Christmas vacation with my family, I came across the gift my nieces and nephew had given me: a mesh sponge, body wash and hand lotion.  I put the mesh sponge in my gym bag, the lotion in the bathroom and paused when I thought how I could best use the body wash. 

I’m one of those adults who still suffers from acne on her face and back, which is why I have to use medicated soap to keep it in check. Then, I figured the best way to use it would be as hand soap. So, I poured most of the body wash into my soap dispenser in the kitchen, which was nearly empty of its yellow liquid soap. Afterwards, I dashed off to do a hundred other things. 

By the time I returned to the kitchen to fix myself something to eat, I reached out to use the soap and wash my hands and saw a ghost. Not a “real” ghost, but the mixing of the two liquid soaps formed a ghostly image that sent me running for my camera. I couldn’t have created that intentionally, but was amazed at its appearance.

Although I try not to be superstitious, I come from a long line of superstitious people. I dismissed the ghost’s appearance as being nothing more than the mixing of two liquids–despite the fact that the following day, I received a parking ticket!  Surely not the work of the soapy ghost, just the coincidence of one event following the other.

As a matter of fact, the last day of 2011 was wonderfully well-spent, starting with a trip to the library to get The History of Mathematics and another book about how to draw superheroes.  My latest creative scheme involves drawing two of my characters.  They happen to be the personification of mathematical concepts; so now I have dreams of evolving into a graphic novelist.  Why not?

Then I dashed off to a 90-minute zumba class. I normally stay away from zumba classes, but since this one was being taught by my favorite samba teacher, I trusted that she’d put her special spin on the whole experience.  Totally kicked my butt, but made that margarita and chilaquiles afterwards go down smoother.

Once I finally returned home, I showered, surrounded myself with books on my bed and took a much deserved nap.  Of course I managed to read after waking up more refreshed. I finally got up to make the spicy bean dip that I was taking as my covered dish to the NYE’s milonga. Then I got dressed in my latest Goodwill purchase: a dreamy, dark brown silk skirt with another previous Goodwill purchase, an elegant white top.

My first stop was at a laid-back house party of one of my capoeira sisters. I brought over the last of my Christmas chocolate to share.  I figured after spending seven days eating two desserts a day, I’d do myself the favor of jettisoning the excess candy from my apartment.

Although the conversation was very entertaining, I headed to my second and final NYE party stop. I saw the grill full of meat and nearly empty picnic tables once I arrived. When I went inside, I did not see anyone eating.  I joined one of my friends at a table and asked her if everyone had already eaten.  She said that no one had eaten yet.  Figures!  I’d arrived two and a half hours late and was the first person to fix my plate and eat.  Long live Black people!

Afterwards, I replenished my lipstick in the bathroom and readied myself for a night of dancing. According to the tango “rules,” only men ask women to dance.  I broke that rule for most of the night. My male friends were near and readily available; so I just took the initiative of asking them. And nothing temporarily boosts my confidence like looking sexy.  That $5.99 skirt certainly made me look like a million bucks. Or was it the other way around?

At the stroke of midnight, we toasted, kissed cheeks and started dancing a medley of dance genres besides tango. I amazed my friends with my samba skills. Then one friend led me to do a dance I’d never done before.  I asked him afterwards which dance he’d just led and he told me the hustle…very different than the hustle I remember my sisters doing in the 70s.

Since I was determined to start off the New Year continuing my habit of going to bikram yoga at ten am, I started packing up my things to leave. It’s a good thing I’d already planned to leave since my allergies had curiously started to flare up outta nowhere (another soap ghost effect?).

The yoga studio was especially packed since the 60-day challenge started today. Yogis are encouraged to do yoga for 60 days in a row.  I’m participating in my own challenge, which is to increase the number of times I attend yoga from eight times a month to at least ten.  My left hip will especially thank me. I’ll just see where life will take me with a newly healed hip in 2012.

Christmas 2011

My sister, Renee, and her family, once again, hosted us for Christmas.  Ten people and two bathrooms, lots of good food and even more good laughs.  And much to my surprise, no cold!  I came busting out of Dulles Airport fully bundled, complete with a knit ski cap and immediately started stripping–only down to my regular clothes!

As much as I’d coached myself about not overindulging with the sweets and other fatty foods, I hungrily devoured my sister Carla’s homemade bonbons with pecans.  My direct flight did not include a meal and I was not about to pay for a snack after paying $25 for my checked bag.

Coupled with my near-empty stomach, my father took the scenic, traffic-ladened route back to Renee’s house. Fortunately, my mother always rolls with snacks in the car, especially popcorn. I wasn’t in the mood for popcorn, but she also had sweet potato chips and premade cheese and crackers. So, before I could even step in my sister’s house, I’d already downed three different snacks.  So much for avoiding the junk food!

Renee had the grand idea to type up an itinerary of what we were planning to do while I was here and email it to other family and friends. Of course, that did not get off the ground, but I managed to send out a text to a few friends about our upcoming trip to the wax museum in DC. So far, only one out of three friends can definitely make it. No matter what, it’ll be fun to go to DC then eat afterwards in Chinatown.

I’m impressed that any of my nieces or nephews still believe in Santa Claus, but my 11-year-old nephew set out three cookies for Santa along with two celery stalks for the reindeer.  His mother convinced him not to pour the milk yet, saying that she’d do it before going to bed. Ha! I remember years ago when I set out a slice of rum cake for Santa along with a glass of milk.

The same nephew got the present-opening party started around a quarter to 8–about an hour later than what I thought. My sister, her husband and their three kids all assembled in the living room. The kids tore through their presents while Renee captured it all on video. She politely asked if I was ready to be “on camera” and I told her no. I had to walk past them to get to the bathroom and certainly didn’t need that zombie walk recorded for eternity.  At least I knew to change out of my bed clothes first.

I was so happy to see all the gifts I bought enjoyed by their recipients. I must admit, though, Renee had set me up this year to expect that I was getting a digital reader from her this year. The only reason I thought this was that she called me up a few weeks ago to see which one I wanted “if” she was going to get it for me. This morning, she handed me my usual Christmas gift–a $50 Visa gift card. Not that I’m complaining, but I could have done without the false expectation.

Of course, one of the best gifts I received was the one I bought myself: the latest Vitamix model.  My mother purchased it for me on base since she could get it cheaper and did not have to pay taxes. She had not bothered to wrap it since it was a gift to myself, but she did put it under the spectacular Christmas tree.  I waited until this morning to open it. Both Renee and Mom were a little jealous of the kickass cookbook that came with the blender.

I’ve evolved into a blender cook and have “sacrificed” about three cheaper blenders to the cause.  I already had some bright ideas of my own about what I was going to prepare with my heavy duty blender, but the included cookbook was truly a surprise.  I’m going to have a good time going through those recipes–at least until get the hang of it.  I’m amused that most of the recipes instruct me to add the ingredients in the order that they are listed. I’m now wondering if I should have used such logic with those cheaper blenders. I only followed the blending of the dry ingredients by the wet ones.

Mom pulled a prima donna and dashed into the bathroom to shower rather than joining us for the gift opening.  By the time she emerged, we had already cleaned up the wrapping paper and had gathered her gifts in one convenient spot so she could sit in comfort and unwrap them.

Finally, my other sister, Carla, had put the final touches on breakfast and we ate. Again, I reminded myself not to overindulge since we’d probably do nothing, but download movies until my brother-in-law finished Christmas dinner. As a matter of fact, Renee hasn’t scheduled us to leave the house until tomorrow.  It’ll be so good to stroll, even if it’s around the mall!

It’s always a joy to visit my family, but the temporay sedentary lifestyle nearly kills my spirit! I’ll have to get back into my good habits when I return to Austin…until my next family visit in the summer!