I don’t often get relatives visiting me here in Austin, but I come from such a big family that I inevitably have distance cousins in every major city. One such cousin, who I last saw when he was a toddler, is now all grown up and recently graduated from the Austin Police Academy this past Friday.
His parents flew in from Cascade, VA to witness the start of their son’s second career, after successfully completing a stint in the military. I figured that I could make the ten-minute drive from my apartment to witness his special day, visit with some relatives and that fueled me to sit through three hours of ceremony.
One particularly poignant moment for me was when Austin Chief of Police Art Acevedo gave his advice to the newly graduated police officers. He warned them not to let “the job” be their entire lives. They should always make time for family, friends and outside interests or run the risk of being eaten alive. His exact words were ,”or else this job will eat you alive.”
I’m currently in my third year at my high school and it’s the worst one yet, in terms of the administration. It’s interesting how my classroom and the interactions with the students have greatly improved over time, but the administration has continued to gather more weapons in their arsenal to use against teachers.
Never have I heard so many teachers complain against a school administration before. And yet, at this moment, the only thing that’s preventing me from being eaten alive is my sheer determination to fully enjoy my life outside of school. Every weekend, I’ve planned at least one interesting, enriching thing to help revitalize myself.
I suffered insomnia two weeks in a row and knew that something had to change, either my attitude or my situation. I chose the former since I’m in control of myself and can take actions to minimize the hostility and stress that the administration is purposely waging against us teachers. I dutifully attend both capoeira and bikram yoga twice a week to keep both my mind and body running well.
I usually find some cultural fun to take advantage of. This weekend it was the Mediterranean Festival, where, to my delight, I saw many salseros and tangueros among the crowd of festival goers. Although none of us knew much about the traditional dances, we did our best.
I refuse to be eaten alive. I will live life to the fullest and continue to bring as much creative energy to my classroom as I can while the administration, for its part, does everything in its power to prevent me.
Given the fact that this past week marked my second week of Tuesday through Thursday insomnia, I’m now well rested and ready for another challenging week at school. I also can reflect on last Monday when I first learned that my educational critique, “Monochromatic Butterfly,” had been published by the Texas Observer–three days earlier than I had expected. http://www.texasobserver.org/oped/monochromatic-butterfly
Through my sleep-deprived days following, I forwarded the link to friends, family and my writers’ group. It’s amazing to think that what began as my way of dealing with the angst of teaching under such an oppressive educational system that functions solely to prepare students for a high-stakes test, is now “out there” for interested people to read and get a small taste of what a creative, practing teacher is up against.
People assume that the students are a teacher’s main source of angst, but it’s truly the system, perpetuated by politicians and school administrators who keep me up at night. They have the luxury of sitting remotely in their offices, far away from the students, and designing bureaucratic, nightmarish educational policies with disregard to how it will affect students in both the short and long term.
Common sense and logic should tell them that if a teacher is forced to focus more on an assessment than on content, then the challenge of students learning that content well will be much more difficult. The overemphasis on generating “data driven assessment” opportunities continues to plague classrooms.
And yet, my glimmer of hope lies in the fact that my voice is being heard. There are like-minded people who are in position of power and are willing to do what they can in order to help. It’s going to take a network of such people to change the direction.
Just last week, I heard a brief report on CNN about how the president was reevaluating No Child Left Behind. The report mentioned how some things would change in order to help schools better serve the students. This is the level that needs to start the momentum. I just pray that it is a change for the better and not just yet another assessment in the name of educational reform.
There was something magical about this past Saturday that motivated three different organizers to plan all-night-long events. I can only state with certainty that the passing of the fall equinox on Thursday had influenced the date of the water ceremony that I attended–I’m not sure why the organizers of the all-night milonga or the all-night salsa party chose this Saturday.
I’d planned to attend this event nearly two months ago when I met Yvette, our spiritual guide for the ceremony. I don’t know what her official title was, but she organized a very spiritual, woman-strong event this weekend.
She, along with her helpers, arrived at Alma de Mujer to outline the shape of a turtle with off-white rocks. Laced around the rocks was string that had red ribbons tied around it. Outlining the rocks and ribbon was a coarse yellow powder that I suspected to be cornmeal, but I noticed that there were no insects nibbling on it, which led me to believe that an organic insect repellent, such as a plant extract, had been mixed in with the corn meal to keep the insects away.
In the head of the rocky turtle outline, was a sweet-smelling fire that was carefully attended to by one of Yvette’s helpers at all times. One woman, in particular, held the position for the majority of the night.
Since water is a feminine entity, which makes up most of the planet, our bodies, and houses our unborn children, this ceremony was exclusively for women. All attendees wore either a skirt or dress, but as the sun went down and the temperature cooled, we all added second and third layers. Some women, such as myself, were partially emerged in sleeping bags.
But sleep was not on the menu! Each attendant entered after being ritually smoke cleansed with sage and offering a pinch of untreated tobacco to the fire. Four women were the guardians of the cardinal directions and maintained a small fire, incense and prayer in the areas that made up the turtle’s feet. Some indigenous Latinas doubled as singers and dancers and the rest of us sat in two half moon rows, facing the altar, and added to the female energy in collective prayer.
I enjoyed listening to Yvette explain the different global water challenges from the radioactive waters in Japan to the effects of global warming and the melting ice. She mentioned the killing spree in Norway and how the water retained a memory of that carnage. She then transitioned to how, like the Earth, our bodies are mostly water and how women carry their unborn children in water. Ideally, everytime we drink water, we should say a prayer for where has come from and for where it is going. Fortunately, we all had the opportunity to honor this important nutrient.
One of the items that Yvette asked us to bring was flowers. I normally don’t buy flowers, but chose some very colorful daisies. I’m so glad I did since during the ceremony, all the flowers were mixed together, but I took pride in seeing mine among the rest. We were given a bunch of flowers and had to break off the stem so that four inches remained. Some of the flowers were used for the altar. Once there was a sufficient amount of flowers with four-inch stems, two women took cylindrical wooden sticks that were about 3 feet long and started wrapping/tying the flowers to the sticks with string. All the while we worked with the flowers, songs, mostly in Spanish, were sung. I could hardly join in the singing, but Yvette encourgaged us to hum and some of the singers shared their rattlers with us. When one song came to an end, the flower work had to stop until a new one had begun. This strangely reminded me of capoeira’s respect for music. If there’s a pause in music, the capoeiristas circle around until the music starts again.
Yvette explained that the music was a form of prayer that went into the work being done. In the end, those flower sticks were absolutely gorgeous. As soon as the flower sticks had been completed, the singing stopped. A woman, who was not part of any of the indigenous dance group, let the spirit of the moment guide her dance. We were silent, not even speaking in hushed tones among ourselves. The only sounds that accompanied her dance were the insects, the wind and the rustling leaves. Even the disco that could be faintly heard earlier had ceased. I figured it must have been around two am.
Afterwards, the four guardians were invited to face the altar to pray and speak about their experience. Another woman took the main fire guardian’s place so she too could speak to the group. A woman who had led many of the songs with her powerful voice spoke. Yvette spoke and one of her assistants spoke, mentioning that at last year’s water ceremony, they were at a beach that had been polluted by oil, courtesy of BP. Two days after the ceremony, BP had finally stemmed the oil leak.
We exited the turtle totem. Most women ate since none of us had eaten since sunset, but I was not hungry at all. I’d barely drank water, but what I needed the most was sleep. One of my friends, who was the guardian of the West, invited me to sleep in the room where she and her two daughter were since there was four beds.
On Sunday morning at 7 am, someone came into our room and woke us up by announcing that we were beginning again. I felt a little groggy, but most importantly, even though I’d forgotten to pack my night guard, I did not have sore jaws. There’s something to be said about the side benefits of healing prayer.
I dutifully reported to the turtle totem, still not having broken my fast. As much as I love food, I didn’t feel any hunger pains until hours later. We entered the totem, throwing a pinch of pure tobacco atop the smoldering ashes of last night’s bonfire, but this time, we were cleansed by one of two flower sticks.
As two women knelt side by side facing the altar, two of the older women, each with a flower stick in hand, first laid the flower stick on the top of the kneeler’s head, then ritually placed the stick against various body parts on the front and back. Then two other women, holding a basket of flower petals, gently tossed a handful of petals on one of the kneeler’s heads.
After all women were cleansed with the flower sticks, we walked to a nearby stream to make our flower offering to the water. The dancer/singers and guardians first made their offerings followed by those of us who were mainly strengthening the energy with our presence.
We returned to the totem, but no one entered. Once the sun was in a certain height in the sky, all the dancers entered, along with a drum and the drummer led the group in greeting the four cardinal directions, the sky and the earth. Even those of us who were not dancers faced the directions indicated by the drummer. Then women from the different groups (tribes?) led the other dancers in one or two of their own native dances.
The medley of native dances lasted nearly two hours and ended the same way it had begun, acknowledging the six cubic directions. The dancers ate in the totem. Those of us who had not left early, filled up a picnic table that was on the porch of the main lodge since it was pleasant in the shade.
I loved the free-flowing conversations unhindered by male energy. None of us male bashed, but simply spoke of some of our challenges, directly or indirectly related to gender.
Before leaving, I passed out my business card. Whenever I have such a connection with other people, whether I may ever see them again or not, I make a point to pass out my business card. With these women in particular, we had all bonded in a very spiritual experience. I especially wanted them to have my contact information.
I’m excited to see the ramifications from the event.
I should’ve known that since I’d had a wonderfully, relaxing Labor Day weekend, followed by a three-day work week, had attended the best concert I’ve ever seen and had participated in the best capoeira performance ever that the week following all that joy would be painful. Literally. Monday was the first day of spirit week, when we showed our school spirit by dressing up as a Hollywood star; so I dressed up as “Storm” from the Xmen in order to show that I was Halle Berry. Granted, my white wig was a little discolored and my cape was a bit raggedy since that’s been my fall back Halloween costume for years, but the students and my colleagues loved it. Capoeira training later that night was quite good as well. I had no major body pain and trained with my former intensity before I’d started experiencing the middle age back blues.
By Tuesday, a lot of bureacratic bullshit had taken a hold of me. It was all I could do to get to a good stopping point at work and drive to a diner to eat before attending my monthly Romantic Writers’ meeting. I was in luck since the special was chicken and dumplings and they offered chocolate pecan pie as one of their desserts. It should go without saying that I had my “medicine” aka a glass of red wine in addition to every other culinary delight.
Our meeting was entertaining and informative as they usually are and I left feeling good. That night, I woke up in the middle of the night in what was the closest to a panic attack as I’ve ever come. I hadn’t broken out into a sweat nor was my heart racing, but I couldn’t go back to sleep.
I dragged ass at school the next day.I entertained the thought of going into the first hour of the two-hour capoeira training, but figured that getting an extra hour of sleep would serve me better since the twenty-minute drive home from work was a waking challenge. Besides, now that my capoeira group offered classes on Saturdays, I’d still get my second day of training then.
Once over the hump, I sailed into the weekend, exhausted, but I still attended my Friday night bikram yoga class, which was not overcrowded since many people were at ACL.
I incorrectly figured that I’d sleep like a baby, but once again, I woke up in the middle of the night. This time, a normal, random dream turned into a nightmare. I dreamed that my students were watching a movie that I had not authorized. When I asked them what they were watching, they told me it was a remake of “Invasion of the Body Snatchers.” I told them that the original with Donald Sutherland was better. Then, my mind kept replaying the ending of that movie.
That’s when I finally woke up. I’ve tried to figure out the significance of that dream since I’m currently reading a dream interpretation book, but the best I can come of with is that my fear at work is becoming a teaching robot who uses scripted lessons rather than being the creative teacher that I’ve always been before moving to TX. In my dream, “robot” changed to “pod person.”
At least I returned to sleep and had a wonderful Saturday complete with painting before both capoeira and tango classes, then hanging with friends to watch a pay-per-view boxing match and later salsa dancing. Despite all those wonderful activities, I still had an anxiety dream. Even though this was pretty mild compared to the other anxiety-producing dreams, this dream made me anxious because I had changed money from US currency to a foreign currency. My biggest concern was the locals discovering that I had such a wad of money on me. I divided up the money and put it in two different places in my purse, then I went with a friend to go shopping. I don’t think that in real life, I know who the “friend” was and I don’t recall what I was shopping for, but I did manage to secure the money.
I can interpret that dream two ways. The first way is that since I’ve self-published my first novel, Tribe of One, I have dabbled into being a small business woman. As a matter of fact, my latest pursuit will be attending a free two-hour seminar about how to start or run a small business.
The second, longshot interpretation is working outside the States again. Eleven out of sixteen of my teaching years have been outside of the States; so the foreign money could be a sign of making money out of the States since I’ve done that before.
Nonetheless, my daily barometer continues to be my happiness. I usually guide how much I can humanly do in any given day based on how much time I have to do things and go from there. Now that my emotional pendulum has swung back and forth, perhaps this week will be “normal.”
Back in July when I first saw that Sade and John Legend were performing in Austin on my 41st birthday, I knew I was going to attend. Unlike last year, I chose to have a simple birthday celebration instead of a whole day’s itinerary, inviting friends to join me in various activities.
Although I would have been perfectly happy to witness what turned out to be the best concert I’ve ever seen from the comforts of the nosebleed seats, my friend who is far more into the music scene (and has more disposable income!) insisted that we get the “good seats” and as a birthday present to me, paid the difference of my “top price” to pay for any concert ticket.
What can I say? It’s wonderful to have friends who are better paid than the typical public school teacher salary! We had fantastic seats on the lowest risers near the floor seats, but with the luxury of not being on the floor. That way, no matter whether the people on the floor stood or sat, they did not block our view. I actually find it funny that floor seats cost the most money and, for my temperament, would cause me the most frustration.
The concert was delayed for “safety reasons,” but I was not the least bit upset since I had good company and the energetic buzz of the venue was wonderful. As a matter of fact, I’d not seen that many black people gathered in one place in Austin before. Nonetheless, we were STILL in the minority.
John Legend came out in a delicious-looking cream colored suit and covered Adele’s “Rolling in the Deep,” adding his own special magic to it. I’m not as familiar with his music as I am with Sade’s, but I still enjoyed the richness of his voice. My friend, the armchair music critic, commented that the sound was “off.” I hadn’t noticed it except that by the second song, I fought off the urge to put my earplugs in. Afterwards, he switched into more of a crooner mode and I no longer had the need for earplugs and my friend stated that Legend should stick to that style of music.
I sensed that Legend was coming close to the end of his performance; so I trekked up the stadium stairs to use the bathroom. I figured that missing the last bit of his set was not as detrimental as missing a single moment of Sade. Of course, he sang “Greenlight” while I was in the bathroom, but the silver lining is that I’ve not been so beautifully serenaded while using the bathroom.
A sheer curtain surrounded the stage as they changed the sets between performances. Some of us in the crowd made a joyful trip down memory lane as music from A Tribe Called Quest, Tupac and Notorious B.I.G. Yet, when the house lights dimmed and the stage lights slowly arose, we all cheered to see Sade arising from below the stage.
The sheer curtains shot back diagonally as if they were fleeing spirits. The crowd, myself included, shouted in surprise. Her opening song was “Soldier of Love” and she looked like an attractive soldier dressed in a black pantsuit with stylish black heels–which she promptly switched out of in favor of more comfortable footwear as her first of several dress changes.
Throughout the concert, I was mesmerized by the lighting and video projections. The biggest screen at the back of the stage, normally showed pre-recorded images that enhanced whichever song they were performing. The two smaller side screens usually showed a close up of something that was happening on the stage.
At one point, a thin see-through veil enveloped the stage and projected image of a road and trees were shown on the big screen and the veil. If one looked at a side screen, then the image came together of Sade walking down the middle of a tree-lined road. Iwas just blown away.
During the band’s “intermission,” the instruments were subtly lowered into the stage as the stage lights dimmed and the big screen showed a mini-movie intro leading up to “Diamond Life.” Although there was no one on stage, the voice over, which sounded similar to a Mickey Spillane tale, entertained the audience. Iwas riveted since I did not know what to expect next.
I’ve just never witnessed such a theatrical concert that combined so many high tech aspects, but did not seem cluttered or drown out her beautiful sultry voice.
The bar has definitely been raised as far as the next concert is concerned. That would be Meshell Ndegeocello. She’s another sultry-voiced woman. She’s also a sensational bassist; so I’ll see how enthralling her performance will be compared to Sade’s. I know that it is not fair to compare the two, but I know I’ll do it subconsciously.
I cannot remember the last time I spent both a Friday and Saturday night at home…even during the two and half months when I first moved to Austin and was unemployed, I managed to go out to the free events.
Yet, after work on Friday, I swam laps, came home, warmed up dinner and finished watching a movie that I’d started the night before.
Saturday morning, I took a capoeira class, came home to freshen up and eat lunch, then took two tango classes. That was particularly touching since I’d taken tango lessons for over a year before taking a three-month break. I stayed away long enough to miss it. Fortunately, I attended the second class and learned that one of our tangueras was returning to her native country, France. So, I got to say good bye to her.
Then, I dashed over to my favorite nail shop. Although it was a risk without an appointment during a holiday weekend, I was not disappointed. There were three guys and two women ahead of me. They were all friends and since we had to wait, some of them decided to make a drink run.
They returned with two bottles of champagne, a bottle of OJ, and a bottle of cranberry juice. And the best part, they shared! So, it was like being at happy hour in the nail shop. I sipped my chilled poinsettia (champagne and cranberry) while talking to them and thumbing through the magazine I’d brought. By the time I returned home, I felt that I’d already met my social quota and it was only 7pm.
Of course, one of the things that I love doing the most is just taking a few hours to read. I never know what will inspire me to add to the story that I’m writing or in a future lesson plan.
As a matter of fact, I think the reason I’m much happier in the classroom this year is because I’m back to writing all my lessons. The most I’ve used of someone else’s stuff is a quiz, which I still went through and modified some things. I’m so fortunate to teach upperclassmen and have an elective course with no official curriculum. That way, I have a creative challenge to keep me on my game. The way I see it, I’ll save myself a trip to mediocre-ville if I’m actively engaged in the fine art of lesson planning.
Tomorrow, I’m going to a BBQ, hosted by my capoeira teacher. I’d like to say that I instigated the whole thing although, truthfully, this group gets together on a regular basis. It’s just that I’ve had the idea of making a cheesecake and decorating it with fresh fruit in the shape of the Brazilian flag for a couple of months now. I baked the dessert today, but I’m waiting until tomorrow to put the fruit on it. I’ve never done that before and don’t exactly know how that’ll affect it…I could always research it, I guess.
This morning, I attended my usual 10 am bikram yoga class. The instructor welcomed us to class and stated that we must have come to practice hot yoga in order to cool off! After completing yet another invigorating bikram class, I confirmed that today’s scorcher would top 100 degrees, the maximum temperature for bikram yoga. We’ve broken the 1925 record for the number of triple-digit days in one year.
As if going to bikram was not hot enough for me, I finished cleaning my apartment, got myself cleaned up and attended the Hot Sauce Festival. By the time I arrived, I was too hungry to wait in the long lines to sample the various hot sauces. Instead, I scanned the food vendor area, saw the shortest line and jumped in it. Fortunately, the vendor was an Ethiopian restaurant that I’d wanted to try since moving to Austin.
With my sampler plate of Ethiopian food and an electrolyte that scarcely suggested “lemonade,” I sat down in the shade, near the live music stage, to slowly begin my second major sweat of the day. I had impeccable timing since my friend’s band was setting up to play.
As best I could, I enjoyed the food, music and fact that I was not stressed out. I couldn’t help but think about the chronic droughts here in Austin. In order not to throw myself a pity party, I thought about the poor East coast, which first had an earthquake, followed by a hurricane and subsequent floods in some parts.
I called my parents, who live in the central part of North Carolina, to see how hurricane Irene was treating them. I became concerned when a recorded message informed me that the number I’d just dialed was no longer in service. That number had been in service since 1979 when my parents bought the house and was one of two land line numbers that I had committed to memory.
I called my mother’s cell. To my relief, the phone was not out of order due to any natural disaster, but rather my parents, who are both in their 70s, had finally got Dad his own cell and let go of the land line. Of course, I had to find all that out the hard way. The last time I’d spoken with them, they were just thinking about doing that. I did not think that in as little time as a week, they’d actually have followed through on the idea. I expected at least a month or two of hemming and hawing.
Mom told me that the hurricane just brought some rain their way, but nothing serious. As a matter of fact, the earthquake had been more dramatic, but not for her. She had recently undergone knee surgery and had been doped up on percocet. So when Dad asked her if she had seen things on the shelf shaking, she said, “Oh, I thought was just the percocet. I’ve been seeing things shake for a couple of days!”
And maintaining a good sense of humor is just one of the ways they’ve been married for 50 years.
As we ease into the school year, I can only hope that none of the collective natural disasters interferes with classes. I’m mildly concerned about water shortages. Just walking down the unair-conditioned hallways breaks me into a sweat. Too bad I cannot put down a yoga mat and do 90 minutes of bikram with the students.
I’ve definitely ended my fantastic summer vacation the right way–by looking forward to the upcoming new school year with as much ease as I possibly can. My classroom is as decorated as I want it to be, I’ve got lesson plans for the first week and I’ve previewed my class rosters. The most important thing is that I’ve not worked this weekend.
It’s always a wonderful thing to relax, destress and return to work refreshed and full of creative ideas. Although I certainly don’t agree with some of the practices that are done in the name of the all mighty standardized tests (this year, we’ll have more assessments than “normal” since we’re phasing out one and phasing in another), but I’ve written a handful of lesson plans already and I’m excited to get into that groove again. Since we’re on block scheduling, I only have to write six lessons a week versus ten since I have two preps.
Last year, I hung up several pieces of decorative cloth that I collected from my life of teaching and traveling abroad. I’ve decided to go with that theme again, but I’ve only decorated the front of my classroom so I can dedicate the rest of my wall space to student work. It’ll just be easier to display their creations without my decorations interrupting.
Some people were referring to this weekend as the last “free” weekend, but I disagree with seeing school as something negative. I like vacation as much as the next person, but I also know that I can still have an enjoyable social life, especially while living in a happening town like Austin.
As a matter of fact, on the evening of the first day of school, I’m going to an interesting potluck dinner hosted by some local artists I’ve not seen in a long time, meeting a friend for dinner at one of my favorite soul food restaurants later on in the week, going to hear the Buena Vista Social Club on Friday and going downtown to celebrate a friend’s birthday on Saturday night.
And whynot? When I’m at school, I’m the picture of organization, creative energy and efficiency. Outside of school, I must relax, recharge my batteries and interact with the rest of society. I get most of my best ideas when I’m either exercising, especially swimming, or attending a cultural event.
At the same time, on school nights, I make sure I get to bed at a reasonable hour in order to get my 7 to 8 hours of sleep. There are many delusional people who believe that they can do “just fine” with fewer hours of sleep, but I cannot think of anyone who suffers from that delusion and doesn’t get jacked up on caffeine and/or sugar in order to function.
At my age, 40.9, I stick to doing things the natural route since any shortcut I take as far as diet, exercise or sleep will negatively affect my lower back. That has been a consistent source of pain for me. I hold stress in my shoulders, jaws and lower back. I’ve gotten better about not hunching my shoulders, but I still have to wear a nightguard. So far, yoga and chiropractic treatment have just started to chip away at my cemented lo back–just in time for school.
During the middle of the summer, I thought I would burst into tears when this day had finally come, but I’m remarkably at peace with going back to school tomorrow. Granted, it’ll be orientation week, which means that I’ll be semi-vacationing without students. Plus, I’ll be able to enjoy at least an hour-long lunch, unlike the 38-minute lunch we teachers are scheduled once the students return.
Unlike any other summer vacation in the past, I spent this one as a full-time writer, complete with making a fact-finding trip to Utila, a Honduran Caribbean island, which is the scene of my second novel, The Adventures of Infinity and Negativa. Not spending the summer moving into a new apt, working or studying has truly allowed me to unwind and get the stress out of my muscles. I’ve even started going to yoga twice a week to aid the process, but truthfully, my middle-aged lower back has been my biggest motivator for that!
As is the case with most things in life, I’ll miss the little things: mid-afternoon naps, a glass of red wine with my 1 hour lunch, and going to the bathroom whenever I feel the need. As much as I joke about wearing adult diapers so I can “go” whenever I want to, I’m not sure that I want the hassle of wearing one. Besides, I usually keep myself in a state of partial dehydration and retrain my bowels not to move so freely after eating. That’s the trickiest thing to readjust to. On the one hand, it’s not healthy, but it is necessary.
I’m sure some of my colleagues spent this weekend getting their classrooms together, but I’m going to start the new school year off right by not working on the weekends. Part of the reason stress overtakes some teachers is that they don’t take the time to de-stress, thinking that they have to get ahead or catch up. After teaching for 15 years, I know that I cannot be at my best without properly rested and as stress-free as I can manage.
The first thing that goes out the window when stressed is creativity, whether it’s creative lesson planning or creative problem solving. I learned early on by mistake that when I swam, I immediately felt more energized and as an extra perk, I intuited good solutions to problems. Years later, I read a book on genius and discovered that other creative people would swim, drive, run or otherwise engage in a physical activity in order to intuit ideas, which is another good reason not to work longer hours. I can exercise and come up with creative ideas to implement in the classroom.
Teaching public school here in Texas makes implementation of creative ideas quite tricky, but the students are worth the effort. Being happy with my job is worth the effort. I just have to stick with a regular exercise schedule to come up with the creative solutions to make it possible.
Convenient enough, this week’s blog title is a double entendre since I visited Utila, a Honduran Caribbean island in order to do research for my second novel and this was the first time that I had done such a thing. If I were the least bit apprehensive, other than my brush with ESP about the flight itinerary fiasco last Monday, then my giddiness about my new venture was laid to rest.
Not only was Utila the lush, green beauty that I had remembered previously, but it had also changed. The nuanced details that I gathered simply from being there in person are priceless. I managed to conduct four formal interviews with my favorite new toy, a smart pen that records the conversation. Everyone who I warned about the fact that my pen records, seemed rather impressed at such a piece of technology being used to conduct an interview.
I took pictures of the mundane as well as the spectacular during my five days on the island with the only notable exception being a yearly “underground electronic” music event known as Sunjam. Among other restricted items, event goers could not bring a camera or cellphones or anyother image-recording recording device. I had to take more notes during my four hours on the rented island where Sunjam took place than at any other location.
At one point, I saw four out-of-place looking older gentlemen. They weren’t exactly dressed in three piece suits, but still had that aurora about them. And stereotypically, the tallest man in the foursome was obviously the one in charge to which the others deferred. I kept my eyes on them as the tallest man, who happened to be Honduran, walked slowly around, leading the other three men and pointing things out. I waited until they made their way in my direction and took the opportunity to approach them. I figured that they had been on the island about thirty minutes discussing things in their tight little circle of four and wouldn’t mind too terribly if I asked a question.
“Excuse me, are you one of the event organizers?” I asked the tall Honduran man with my nicest, most nervous smile. He politely informed me that he was a commissioner. I nodded in acknowledgement and continued to hand him one of my business cards, explaining that I was a novelist and I had wanted to interview one of the organizers to get some background information about Sunjam. At that point, two of beta males looked around and one of them told me that when he saw one of the organizers, he’d point him in my direction for an interview. I thanked him. Before I returned to my palm tree to sit down, the commissioner handed me one of his business cards in return.
Not ten minutes had passed before I was introduced to Luis Maier, a promoter based out of Tegus who, together with his partner who owns a dive shop in Utila, had started this event 15 years ago. He graciously granted me an interview, not at all minding that my smart pen was a recording device. I just marveled at how with just a little initiative on my part, I found myself interviewing one of the top guys.
I must admit that a combination of my “star struck-ness” and inexperience at interviewing, I missed asking some of the obvious questions, but fortunately, I was able to glean more information from the official Sunjam website.
I dedicated about a fifth of all the pictures I took to my gloriously named room at the surreal Jade Seahorse hotel, Shangri-La. What a joy it was for the five days that I spent in Utila to return to that place. During my first visit to Utila, I’d taken many pictures of the grounds, but this time around, I actually stayed there and dedicated all my picture taking to my room.
Now, I’m en route to the States, but I have to first spend a day on mainland Honduras. I had caught an earlier ferry than the original one I’d planned to take, thanks to the additional transportation that Sunjam caused. I’ve finally managed to escape the airport in La Ceiba, which is by far the worst of the three mainland airports. Due to incompetence on part of the Taca Airline people working the desk, I had to pass through security a whopping four times since, for one reason or another, they kept messing up my flight information and had to issue me boarding passes three times!
Nonetheless, I don’t want to end this blog in a negative note since it’s suffice to say that I’ll never fly Taca again. What I plan to do once I’m back in Austin is to work on my novel for several hours a day, incorporating all the delicious details that I’ve gathered through traveling and interviewing people.
