Going Unnoticed

In the midst of the late winter rains, the emergence of Spring Break and March Madness, switch in time through daylight savings, and the end of winter, situated amongst these events is a well known musical festival called South by Southwest (SXSW).

Hipsters, geeks, urban dwellers, yuppies, college students, marketers, and every kind of individual you might imagine flocks to Austin to hear an assortment of musical artists literally from around the world.

When I arrived in Austin nearly ten years ago, I cannot say that I every heard of SXSW.  As a native son of the Lone Star state, I had become accustomed to the State Fair of Texas, Houston Rodeo, football games, and University Interscholastic League tournaments in academics and sports along with every event common to most cities and towns across the state.  However, after returning to Texas and coming to be a resident of the Violet Crown, I soon learned about what I had been missing.

Over the years, I have attended concerts enjoying mostly hip hop, R&B, reggae, and a few other groups or musicians who likely would not easily fit into any of these categories.  Although there has been pretty much every genre of music represented, I have always leaned to the music that I hold dear and near to my heart.

As I mentioned before, all sorts of people migrate to Austin for SXSW.  So, if you were to come, I guarantee that you will find something here to enjoy.  If not, there is the legendary Austin Rodeo also happening at the same time with their own list of musical acts scheduled throughout the week.

I arose this morning to be reminded that SXSW is about the pleasure music brings to people from across the world and the money needed to finance a global extravaganza with every sort of business represented from the tech world, music producers, entertainers, and promoters to airlines, taxis, pedicabs, and alcohol distillers among others necessary to make this happen.

On a far smaller scale, there are people who remain a bit less visible.  I am not talking about the paid workers behind the scenes, the unsung heroes who make SXSW happen.  I am talking about the man I witnessed walking across my neighborhood picking up cans left by attendees on street corners, alleyways, and on empty lots after party goers had congregated among their friends and strangers alike to hear the latest musical craze.

When the night consumes the cacophony and the walking boots and clamoring shoes subside to the uncanny humid and crisp cool of a Texas March, there are men and women working off the clock, collecting those things we might discard as trash, sometimes muttering to themselves incomprehensibly or silently introspective in the early hours before the next cycle begins.

For me, it is important to pay as much attention to the noise, lights, and commotion that comes with SXSW as it is to notice the other elements working sometimes beyond our awareness.  It may require an interrupted sleep early in the morning before being able to notice.  Even if in the light of day, I would encourage people to look around and see what goes unnoticed and invisible for the many reasons people do from day to day.  It may help to appreciate the little things that make behemoth events like SXSW magical in small ways.

When I arose this morning, I found myself in a contemplative mood partly because it is the day that I check in with my Lifestyle/Health Coach about my progress.  Since cutting sweets and watching my food portions, I have noticed that I have lost about seven pounds so far.  I have exercised irregularly unfortunately even though I am attempting to keep it a priority along with staying hydrated.  It has been forty-four days since giving up sweets.  So far, I see the success every day.  Although the temptation to return to my old ways has crawled back into my thinking on occasion, I have been pleased with the choice to cut sweets.  I am not certain that I will return and have no plans to at this point.  For now, I will be focusing on keeping hydrated and keeping a more regular exercise regiment.

I have not blogged everyday as I had before; however, I have found that making these entries works better when I feel compelled to share my experiences.  It seemed that starting with a daily regiments served its purpose well at the beginning.  If I need to return to something regular, I have blogging among other activities to keep me moving forward.  Blogging will continue to a tool as my disposal when I want to take an opportunity to have an account of the day.
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Day 30 - Where's the UpSide?

All right, I must have been in the closet for the last ten years to miss Prince's guest appearance on the Muppets Tonight.  Prince did a Hee Haw skit and sang a faintly interesting country song on his geetar.

There is a story behind this amazing discovery.

After deciding to go another month on this quest, I seriously bombed on the hydration thing.  Work was particularly difficult and the day ended up being pretty busy with small presentations during the day.

The day started off a bit awkwardly and I should have known the day would be different.  One habit that I had become accustomed to is drinking two servings of water before leaving for work.  Totally forgot about it.

Then, I get to work, fill my water bottle so I have my next two servings before lunch.  After lunch, another two servings and again in the evening when I return home.  Simple as apple pie, easy to follow, and it worked for me.

Not today . . .

Around three o'clock, I'm sitting in my office so thirsty that I could drink a million acres of water. . . 

Anyway,  . . . I got my water bottle and started walking to the faucet to get my first drink of water.  Before I could find the damn thing, I was standing in the hallway talking to co-workers and watching a newborn baby as folks cooed and played with the baby.  Totally forgot about the water.

Evening hit and I was tired, severely dehydrated and a little grumpy.  By the time I sat down for the night, I was feeling run down and hungry it seemed.  I just finished dinner, but I wanted to munch on something.  So, I ate some leftover food from the refrigerator.  

Food wasn't doing it and my craving for something had been peeking its ugly head around the corner throughout the day.  Like a scorned lover, I tired to ignore the cravings and desire to sneak something small, a little chocolate kiss, nothing too big.  Maybe a drink of lemonade or a swallow of soda.  

The sweets were not bad things in themselves.  It was the principle, discipline was required.  So, I got the computer to listen to some old songs instead.  Typed in YouTube and in the right column, I saw Prince with the Muppets.  I turned my head to the side like a inquisitive dog watching something unfamiliar and equally bewildering - Prince in a cowboy hat?  

I had to watch it.

I started laughing at the irony of the situation. Prince, the godfather of sugar walls, the only man who could get away with singing a quasi-punk/funk song about incest, wear high heels, and during the last years of his career find himself a guest on the Muppets Show.  I'd seen everything.

After being distracted, laughing hard, and finding myself feeling much better especially after having two tall glasses of water, I cleared my mind for a moment to notice the upside.  I needed something to get my attention.

Laughter is a wonderful way of taking a reality check in life.

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Day 29 - Leap (Final) Day, Happy Endings!

I assumed when I started this journey so many weeks ago that I'd arrive dancing in the streets ready to eat sweets until my hearts content.

To the contrary, there are no bells, whistles, or grand ticket parade for arriving as I desired.  No one congratulated me or noticed that this was a special milestone.  I did not see a story on CNN or a small, self-published newsletter celebrating my victory, not even on this blog.

For me, I celebrated with a night at Red Robins eating a turkey burger with Swiss cheese on a wheat bun and a side of broccoli (substitute for fries).  My kids were exhausted from a long day with my daughter's tennis tryouts and my son's basketball practice for the playoffs on the weekend.  I was more excited to hear about their days with school and sports than putting any real time thinking about the day of Black History Month,  Leap Day, or my restriction from sweets.

Ironically, I watched a show on ABC television called Happy Endings that focused on two characters' attempt to cleanse their bodies and avoid sweets similarly as I did.  Thankfully, I did not experience any of the crazy, lampoon situations the characters found themselves in.

The show did remind me how serious this could be to some people.  Sugar, starches, alcohol, and the like have powerful roles in many of our lives.  I'd like to believe that for most these foods have had a moderately good place in their lives.  For too many of us, they do not.

At least the show could make light of the secret misery some experience attempting to cleanse themselves.  Unfortunately, there is real suffering for others out there who desperately need to make some life changes because it can be downright unbearable.

I've decided to go another month without the sweets through March.  Through the month of March, I will research and learn what is a reasonable, normal "diet" including sweets.

In the meantime, I am going to keep on working on staying hydrated, which has been moderately successful.  I also want to keep track of eating highly nutritious foods and limited high calorie, low nutrient foods.  Of course, no more sweets.  At the end of April, I'll have information and more experience available to me to make some decisions about sweets.

Right now, I am enjoying having the sweet cravings mostly gone and my appetite unhinged from candies, desserts, and sweet drinks.  This will be a bit more time for reflection and introspection.  I'll also make it a point to stay with this blog.

One month down, let's see what the next one brings.

Good morning Russia, United Kingdom, and most of the European Union, India, Japan, and South Africa.  Of course, good night to my brothers, sisters, and others in the US and Canada.  These are many of the places where this blog has reached.

Looking forward to another month.
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Day 28 - Lessons from Major Taylor

Major Taylor riding his bike

Over the last several days, I had taken a special interest in Marshall Walter "Major" Taylor, the first American world champion in cycling for the one mile back in 1899.  Not many would be familiar with his superhuman efforts during a time when African Americans suffered under Jim Crow, blantant racism, segregation, related violence and poverty.

According to many, cycling during the late 1800s and early 1900 prior to the Great Depression experienced popularity similar to baseball.  Major Taylor made more money annually than famous baseball players such as Ty Cobb of his time.

Major Taylor's success is remarkable and stands out at a time when cycling could be arguably viewed as a middle or upper middle class sport with the expensive equipment, time needed to train, and resources necessary to be successful.

Cycling has been an activity and much less a sport for me.  I shared my first experiences as a child when my mother's second husband taught me how to ride a ten speed bike when I was in the third or forth grade.  I did not have a bike of my own until the fifth or sixth grade.

My first was a yellow Huffy dirt bike, which was heavy by today's standards, used, and worn by the time it was handed down to me.  It was made of gold as far as I was concerned.

For a number of years, my bike became the main means for getting around.  I even used it to help sell cookies and magazine subscriptions door-to-door for my elementary school fundraisers.  Although it helped me get around to baseball practice and other things, it was also my escape during some difficult times in my pre-teen years.

Through high school and college, bike riding fell low on my list of priorities.  Driving a car as for many teenagers was the main mode of transportation that I aspired toward.  During my travels across the US, I ended up selling my bike for extra money to help with one of many family moves.  Cycling as I would learn to call it became a pasttime fondness.

I did not own another bike until much later during graduate school with kids and several more years under my belt.  Running seemed too hard on my knees and other exercises seemed boring and uninteresting to keep my attention. Americanized competitive yoga, pilates, and running machines were great if you had no other choice and wanted to dull your mind at the same time. My new green monster bike became my outlet in many ways as it had during my pre-teens - an outlet during stressful times that would be considered par for the course in adulthood.

These childhood memories hold a special place in my mind.  As I share cycling with my kids during rides across downtown, through the summer, and during fun rides on the East Side, they help me re-experience special moments that I had alone when I was coming up.  The talks, sharing ideas, making jokes and silly observations with my kids as we ride have been times invaluable to me. I get to know them on.

Cycling has held a special place in me.  I was glad to learn about an African American champion who I could point to beyond the glamour and glitter of the current cycling bonanza with big money, drugs, competition, and glitz that comes with it.

Unfortunately, Major Taylor died a pauper.  All the fame and money the man made did not avoid a sad ending. With all his worldwide fame, historical significance, and money he made at the time ($15 to 30K annually), Taylor would succumb to the American nightmare.

I shared his story with my kids who thought it a wonder that they never heard of him before.  As we talked about his life and accomplishments, Major Taylor became another talking point on our bike rides through East Austin.

His story reasonants with me because his success required determination, persistence in spite of obstacles that should have torn him down, and faith in something more powerful to get him through it all.  Along the way, Taylor had people who believed in him and share his vision, faith, and determination.

I won't win the kind of championships Major Taylor had.  However, in my children's eye, each day I win a small victory.  They allow me to be their champion and we share the winner's cup with hopes of bearing good fruits.  Sometimes my kids hold me up way too high where it has been hard to make mistakes and be human.

As each year passes, they have seen me more as who I am, flawed and with blemishes.  Still, they love me. They do not really understand unconditional love.  I think they reciprocate what they experience and reflect back what they receive.  They are not mirror images, but I believe you get back what you put in.

I may not bring home a championship trophy to them.  They are the only reward I need.  Their gift to me is their loving hearts, great personalities, inquisitive minds, and funny sense of humor.  With them, I fill more like a champ everyday.

When I think about the reasons for taking care of myself, eating well, exercising, reducing my stress, and making good on what my mother gave to me, my kids' faces come to mind every time.  There are other benefits for me personally that cannot be ignored.  It's also nice to arrive from work and see those faces shine up the room when they call my name, hug me tightly, and allow me to hold their hands.  Their hands remain very gentle to me. My kids are two of a hundred reasons to take care, be well, and live healthy.

These thoughts among many others have kept me on my path to exercise and be mindful of the food that I eat.  If anything, I've re-learned that determination and persistence is required to stay on track, which is no different than Major Taylor's values.  I expect to avoid his unfortunate downward spiral late in life by learning from his examples in success and failure through his life.

Below is a clip with images of Major Taylor over the years.

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Day 27 - Say Hello to My Friends In Russia

Monday was a day that I most noticed that I was coming to the end of the month.  Time seemed to have flown by so quickly.

As cute as the little girl in the photo looks, the image reminded me of all the times growing up eating sweets.  To coax me into eating my beans as a child, my mother sprinkled a teaspoon or two over my baked beans.  Cereal regardless of how much sugar was already in it had at least a bit more added for good measure. I even recall stirring sugar into water in middle school because it seemed better than water all by itself.

When some colleagues and friends asked if I would return to eating sweets again after the end of the month, I honestly was not sure.  I continued through the day wondering out loud at times whether I should or not.

When I created a list of pros and cons in my mind, I could not come up with many good reasons to return to eating sweets at all.  I did not want to create this idea in my head that sugar was like nicotine or crack cocaine for me; however, going back to how things were before seemed ridiculous to me.

I did not think going to the old ways was even an option.  But, how about maintaining a reasonable habit of eating sweets.  The problem was and continues to be that I do not have a confident sense of what "normal" really would be.

I had gone pretty much cold turkey without many side effects or withdrawal symptoms to speak of really.  I could go back and not really notice a difference - only if I ignore the obvious.

Since the beginning of the month, I had lost six pounds without exerting a huge amount of exercise.  My oral hygiene seemed to have turned around with the added benefits of flossing everyday.  Only a small hint of gingivitis was left in the back molars.

I had not seen any dramatic changes unless you count having a craving for water when thirsty instead of craving something sweet.  I went from not noticing often when I was dehydrated to noticing pretty regularly how I was feeling, being able to explain the deep desire to drink water after a half the day had gone by.

There have been some pitfalls and twists around the bend that caught me off guard.  The difficulties that I have had recently center around some loss of enthusiasm and emotional fatigue.  I found that even these situations, sugar had been my confidant supporter and gentle buttress through stressful circumstances.

As I reflect on the last twenty-seven days, I am grateful to have made it further than I had since I was a child.  I had cut down, cut out for short periods of time, or totally binged on sugar just because.  I did not want to be controlled or told what to do with my food.  I was stronger and better than that.

Not sure who or what I had been fighting against except for myself because I should have done this long ago. And, . . . I am glad that I took on this everyday in February.  It has been a nice ride through all kinds of explorations.

I am not done.  I'm going to take the next few days to consider my next steps.  I like these changes and look forward to keeping it going.  For today, the rewards outweigh by a long shot any negatives that may come.

The good thing about being an adult is that you do not have to be beholden to your childish impulses and mindless dabbling into nonsense.  I had been as innocent looking as the child in the photo, kind of vulnerable to the family, community, and habits that nurtured me. One of the habits has been a deep fixation on anything with sugar in it.

Good to wake up and see all the possibilities.  Good to not be under the thumb of cravings that seemed impossible to control or I had been unwilling to deal with.  Although I'd like to savor being innocent and ignorant to taste the blissfulness that comes with it, I'd rather replace it with the guiding wisdom that has shown me a path moving forward to live my own happiness without sugar.

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Day 26 - From East Austin With Love

Old Anderson High School (Boys & Girls Club)

Another weekend bike ride across East Austin included a trip over to old Anderson High School's football field. Today, the old building is a Boys and Girls Club location on 901 Thompson Avenue (1st picture to the left).

Shot of Austin downtown from old Anderson HS

As I rode up the incredibly steep hill on Thompson to arrive from the East Campus of Austin Community College, I worked hard with deep peddling several gears lower to make it up the hill.  I powered up the hill and passed Booker T. Washington Terraces in the nearly perfect weather conditions, sun up with a slight chill in the air.

Looking at the pictures to left, I started to wonder back to my days growing up in the day.  I tried to take from my personal experiences and imagine going to school at old Anderson High School, home of the mighty Yellow Jackets.

Weekend flag football game at Yellow Jacket Stadium

Guys play flag football at Yellow Jacket Stadium

The scene of downtown Austin was quite beautiful.  The green grasses under the Pleasant Valley Street bridge looking over Boggy Creek Greenbelt made me wonder about the day to day experiences of a regular Yellow Jacket.

I came around to watch nearly fifty or sixty men playing flag football from different teams.  Listening to the commotion and banter among the men was reminiscent of my days in college.  Small spats with referees about their calls on the play, deliberations among team members talking about their next play, and cheers about extended plays down the field made me feel at home.

I sat on my bike to side taking a few pictures.  In a moment, I started to fantasize about being a millionaire, adopting a school, and making a real difference in East Austin.  It was the kind of serial daydreaming that people often have about the East side.

I'm not sure that I could make a difference.  I do think about how to strategically be an active member of the community.  Passively, this blog serves to explore my experiences openly.  Actively, I am still considering how to be involved.  This discovery process will help me to find what is best for my talents and interests.  My first priority continues to be a good parent.  Anything additional will be something to uncover.

At times, I have complained about difficulties with maintaining goals to drink water, avoid sweets, and explore East Austin.  Reflecting on this day, I am pleased about the wonderful experiences that I've had with my kids, celebrating all the beautiful aspects of the community, and enjoying the community trying to make a real difference.

One particular community that I came across was the Major Taylor Austin Cycling Group started recently.  I learned about them at the Austin African American Community Heritage Festival.  The Major Taylor Austin Cycling Group started in 2011 to honor and extend Marshall Walter "Major" Taylor's legacy as the first American and African American champion in cycling history in 1899.

The cycling group is part of a national network of cyclist from minority communities who promote cycling as an alternative transportation, competitive sport, healthy physical activity, and build community. It seems that this is a perfect time to connect with others.

Enjoy the video below of dancing at the heritage festival in honor of Mardi Gras.

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Day 25 - Fortuitous History Rediscovered

"We won the lottery," said a man I met several months ago at an auto parts store in East Austin.

As is my personality, I have had the tendency to strike up conversations with people whether standing in line at the grocery store, at the airport while waiting for my seat, or while sitting idly at the park amongst parents watching their kids.

At the auto parts store, I spoke with a man who mentioned that he lived not too far from the store throughout his life. He talked fondly about this time growing up over the years in East Austin.

From behind prescription sun glasses, the older Latino American man stood under my hood installing a new battery into my car.  He told me the story about how he lived in East Austin, especially, during the times when it was hard.  Though he did not go into the details, the lottery winner talked about one the biggest things to happen on the East side.

Back in the 1900s, Austin was referenced to as the City of the Violet Crown. It's a reference starting in 1890, where an atmospheric phenomenon known as the Belt of Venus created at sunrise or sunset that forms a pinkish or antitwilight arch.

Belt of Venus, antitwilight arch

During Congressman Lyndon Baines Johnson's ambitious early career, he referred to the slums in the East Austin area in a radio address called the "Tarnish of the Violet Crown" on January 23, 1938.

"(T)here I found people living in such squalor that Christmas Day was to them just one more day of filth and misery.  Forty families on one lot, using one water faucet.  Living in barren one-room huts, they were deprived of the glory of sunshine in the daytime, and were so poor they could not even at night use the electricity that is to be generated by our great river (Colorado River).  Here the men and women did not play at Santa Claus.  Here the children were so much in need of the very essentials of life they scarcely missed the added pleasures of our Christian celebration."

As the result of the Housing Act of 1937, Santa Rita, Rosewood, and Chalmers Courts, the first public housing residences, were built, which were the first of their kind in the United States. Public housing remained segregated so Santa Rita was for Mexican Americans, Rosewood for African Americans, and Chalmers was reserved for White Americans.

When the man at the auto parts store said that they won the lottery, he explained that the Santa Rita Courts was a huge improvement over the housing they had prior.  The aforementioned excerpt from LBJ's radio address illustrated the deplorable conditions people lived in the East Austin slums from slum lord owners unwilling to maintain reasonable accommodations.

Although public housing (commonly known as the Projects) may be considered a sore spot for many in Austin because of drugs, crime and other difficulties, it is a huge improvement over the slum conditions of the past.

I recalled this conversation with the man at the auto parts store after attending the Austin African American Community Heritage Festival at Huston-Tillotson University.  I made the kids come on a short East Austin bike tour started at HTU.  However resistant at first to go the morning bike tour, the kids ended up having a great time riding with nearly thirty other cyclists around the East Austin area.

For me, it was a great opportunity for exercise, communion with cyclists, time with the kids, and opportunistic time to learn more about East Austin. From the bike tour, I also learned about the start of public housing in Austin, the first celebration on private lands of Juneteenth, which is the oldest celebration of slavery's end, at Emancipation Park in Austin.  There also was the existence of Gregorytown, the third freedman's community based in East Austin.

The importance of Gregorytown was that the school preceding the historic African American elementary school in East Austin named Blackshear Elementary replaced an older slum like school called Gregorytown School.  The school served African American children in surrounding community along with Olive Street School, Robertson Hill School, and the old E. H. Anderson High School.

E.H. Anderson was renamed L.C. Anderson High School for E.H. Anderson's brother and eventually moved to the last East Austin location at 900 Thompson Street, which was closed as result of court order in 1972 due to school desegregation.  Old Anderson High School's mascot was the Yellow Jackets, which is the name of the pee wee football team who practices at the current Boys and Girls Club located in the old L.C. Anderson building.

My kids enjoyed themselves riding and learning what they could.  I was way too excited after the ride since it was also an opportunity to engage so many people and learn more rich information about East Austin.

For the next blog entry, I'll talk more about Major Taylor group, another piece I learned during the tour.

As far as everything else, I did not drink my water until the end of the day.  Dehydrated, I slipped and drank a full mouth's worth of soda, root beer to be exact.  I do not feel guilty about it. Rather, I know why and how to avoid it in the future. I'm not immune to the temptations. However, after having the soda, I definitely did not enjoy it as I had in the past. It was a real disappointment actually. Drinking a tall glass of water was very rewarding.

What a change of events in one day!

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Day 24 - Wind In My Sail

Anyone living in Austin and the Central Texas area felt the gale winds blowing across.  Of course, I ignored any warnings from Thursday night's weather predictions when considering my plan for exercise on Friday morning.

The other interesting detail to mention is that Thursday was an unseasonably warm, 88 degrees, as I wore a short sleeve shirt for the second day to work for the first time since October.

This Friday morning brought a much colder morning. I bundled up in preparation for the cold winds that would chill me to the bone. However, chill was not going to be my problem.

I felt the winds blowing down my street cutting through the live oak trees and causing the wind chimes to chatter loudly.  I considered for a moment the challenge of biking against the wind and strategized to start the bike trip first against the wind when I had the most strength.

Although my muscles remained sore from the day before, I flew down the hill for at least two miles before engaging the wind.  I began feeling the lingering fatigue in my legs as I began biking east near Lady Bird Lake.  The wind came from the north sweeping across my sheltered face hiding behind a hat, two hoods from the two pullover sweat shirts, another pullover and long sleeve t-shirt for good measure.

I progressed north and immediately hit a wall after feeling thoroughly warmed up.  I peddled into the wind, which felt like charging through a quagmire of molasses and Georgia red clay.  Oh, the misery!

When confronted with difficult circumstances, it is common, actually very human, to be confronted with a series of doubtful internal mental messages.  In my head, a thousand times over, I thought about going home, turning back, retreating from this unhappy episode of biking.

My mind consumed with negativity I also thought about the good fortune of being able to hunker down, bike the good fight, and make it to the other side.  For every negative thought, it takes at least one and half or more positive thoughts to counteract the effects of jaundiced thinking.

The more I rode through the wind, the more inclined did I feel the need to prove that I could make it.  Call it persistence, hard-headed deterministic focus, or dogged optimism, I wanted to make the travail through to the end.

My greatest doubt came at the steepest hill.  Once I made it to the top, I felt a simple, premature victory as I came to an assortment of upcoming hills.  The key for me was that I made it through the first, most difficult challenge in the ride.  Although each hill exaggerated by the gale force wind topping at between 25 and 30 miles per hour posed an opportunity for success, each achievement increased my confidence even though my legs seemed to wither.

The difference for this ride was that my mind and body were in alignment.  My body has not been in shape for some time, yet I was reminded how the mind and body needed to be on the same accord to accomplish self-determined goals.

Looking at my time, it was taking me five minutes longer to make the same ride from the day prior.  I was okay with it.  Speed was not my rubric for success.  Staying on task, continuing through difficult obstacles, and experiencing a sense of reward in successfully attaining my goal were enough to satisfy me.

As I made it home relaxing the last mile down hill, I did fill full of self-satisfaction, which I generally try to avoid.  However, as I reflect, celebrating a personal achievement should not be ignored but cheered even quietly in the morning shadow of night with no one around to see.

The remainder of the day went well.  The first hill made every other event seem easy to deal with.

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Day 23 - Nora Darling, Where Are You?

Tracy Camilla Johns in 'She's Gotta Have It"

It's the 25th year anniversary of the classic black cult film She's Gotta Have It, a directorial debut of Spike Lee.  The film starred Tracy Camilla Johns as Nola Darling, a woman in three relationships with three dissimilar personalities.

Nola Darling is an independent woman, sexually confident, and a bit cautious of developing a monogamous relationship with any of her three suitors.  Although attracted to the best in each man, she refuses to commit to any of them.

Sitting in my living room watching this classic film, I recall not being able to watch it until I was in college.  I was too young according to my mother and this predated streaming videos and DVDs.  If there was a VHS, I did not have the cash or credit card needed to rent the film behind my mother's back.

While in college, I enjoyed this and several other seminal films like New Jack City, Mo' Better Blues, Boyz N The Hood, School Daze, and Do the Right Thing. Spike Lee among other directors and writers went on to produce, star, and film a number of movies in the 1990s focusing on a variety of themes giving the general public a perspective on the lives of Black people.

I thought about these films at the start of my morning bike ride.  In the early morning air, a uncommonly humid February, I wanted to get a little more out of my workout.

Black cinema and exercise do not generally go together, but with at least an hour on my hands, almost anything can go through my mind given the opportunity.  This morning, the topic was Black cinema.

I definitely pushed myself this morning. My tight legs and heavy breathing when I arrived home were evidence of my hard work.  I covered a distance slightly longer than the day before in a shorter amount of time.

Surprisingly, there was about a mile near Airport Boulevard when passing a park.  There was a cool chill that came across me.  I peddled on through the chill.  Up the hill, I labored as each leg pressing up, breathing in the refreshing coolness as sweat saturated my back and arms.

Although I pushed myself the day prior, I knew the route better today,which allowed me to focus and plan ahead as I biked.  I found myself peddling throughout the bike ride to the end almost not noticing the houses, street signs, and other observations I eagerly witnessed the day before.

At the end of the evening, I sat on my couch with legs still a bit tight and fatigued.  Then, I turned on Netflix to watched She's Gotta Have It as I wrote this blog.

When I started off the day, I had no idea 25 years had passed when Spike Lee's first film came out.  It was kind of nostalgic to watch before going to bed.

I am reminded that Nola Darling was my film girlfriend and lovely crush.  It was good to see her face again and reflect on time long past.

Is it time to countdown?  Six more days until the end of February?  I've been back and forth about whether I  would return to eating sweets again.  As of the last few days, I've felt good about giving them up entirely. I do not feel the compulsion and find any cravings are dealt with a choice piece of fruit and a glass of water.

I'm more inclined to find another target to focus on.  Maybe cut out junk food all together or most simple carbohydrates like breads and pasta.  I'm not sure.  I'll get back to what by the end of this month.

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Day 22 - Back in Stride Again

I've had to write this blog entry in retrospect the following day because I came home after along day very tired and went to bed immediate with no real contemplation in place.

After a few days away, I returned to exercising and biking while attempting to forge a new trail away from Lady Bird Lake.  Since blogging about historic East Austin, I decided to ride through its less familiar parts.

One of the things about getting back on track is the body's adjustment to lifting, running, pushing, pulling, or haranguing by will or force through the exercise.  If you were like me, I was a junior league, weekend warrior during my young adulthood and former high school and college athlete.

In my mind's eye, without fail, I still approach exercise as a warrior seeking the next fight . . . with myself.  I want to challenge my body and approach each event like a climb of Mt. Kilimanjaro. This is the problem . . . : My body and mind do not work together.  My mind pushes, but my body pulls.

So, as I hit each hill, my legs start pumping up the hill with my mind focused on cutting up the distance into pieces, creating mental markers, approaching each one, and doing a happy dance for each small accomplishment.  As I finished the third or forth, maybe fifth East Side hill, I noticed my legs started sending messages back to the brain relaying the note from my muscles, "What the hell are you doing?"

As if my muscles decided to have a sit in and Occupy My Legs revolution, protesting inhumane treatment,
they failed to respond to my desire to make it up the next hill.  So, I pressed on with gold plates weighing each leg down as I cycled through Mississippi mud.

For one or two miles, I struggled with my legs that seemed to have a mind of their own.  I relished the down hill rest periods allowing my legs a quiet comfort and my breathing to return to normal.  Around mile five, I was fortunate to find that a peace accord was agreed when as my legs returned.  Unfortunately, I really could not feel them past the burning sensation that shot up across the top of my thighs.

On the last leg approaching my home, I rode in determined to remind my body who was in charge. Yes, I pushed my body a bit more than I should have, but I was not going to be a prisoner to legs unwilling to cooperate.  So, I pushed it up another series of gradual hill that was about three miles nearly straight up.

I took a deep breathe, cleared my mind a bit reflecting on the mix of shotgun, modern, and classic southern homes throughout East Austin.  I thought about how gentrification has allowed the prices of property to go out of the reach of many African and Hispanic American families unable to retain their homes or more willing to sell their properties for a profit, which would be hard to avoid accepting.

I thought also about my contribution to gentrification.  I'd like to think of my role as positive gentrification, if there is such a thing.  The truth is a high concentration of poverty is not good.  Gentrification passively helps to bring a mix of incomes into one community to break up the high level of poverty.

Part of the problem is also  people of color not being able to keep their properties in light of high taxes outside their ability to afford them.  Next door to their older home is a new home twice the price with three stories, which makes their property value higher and out of their ability to pay.

Yes, old home property owners can make a profit by selling their home, but the problem is that the community of Black and Hispanic people leave their historic place after being forced to reside their decades prior.  The businesses and East Side charm is replaced with outsiders coming in changing their community without any serious consideration to the needs or wants of the current residents. The challenge is that an increasing number of the residents are not Black or Hispanic. It's another change in tides.

I desire to remain as long as it satisfies my needs. While here, I'd like to make a positive contribution and be involved with each constituency that shares in the vitality of East Austin.  I do wish more African and Hispanic Americans would seriously consider moving back or come to East Austin.  The cost may be prohibitive to many; however, if you are willing to take advantage of close proximity of downtown and an urban experience contrary to the ideal of suburban ideals, then East Austin is the place to be.

On my porch, I stood for the first time on my bike, each leg was tired.  I also felt good, a painful oh, so good feeling.  I was glad to be out there.  Walking was tentative as I weakly came to my bedroom.  For a moment, I wasn't sure if I really did win.  I did win, because I did something, got out there, and made it much further than I would have just weeks prior.  I did win.

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Day 21 - Sustainable Food as Liberation

The revolution will neither be televised nor sent through a Twitter alert or text message.

All right . . . stay with me.  I'm about to use some revoluntionary words here: Sustainable food.  It is an idea that meaning and pleasure can be found among people, land, and food.

Ok, I know this sounds kind of super radical, political, left-wing, anti-corporate, anti-establishment kind of blog entry.  Not today.  That is for another blog on another day.

As I eat my Gala apple imported from Chile, water bottled in Atlanta, and meat shipped from somewhere likely out of state, I noticed how I've become more concerned about where my food comes from.

Doing my history research about the freedman and their descendants from the Wheatsville, Clarksville, and East Austin communities, I learned that their families oftentimes without fail farmed their land for food. The food was eaten by them and any extra might be sold or bartered for something else.  Raising animals and growing your own food was a necessity.

When African Americans eventually were forcibly enticed to move to East Austin, they were able to achieve this in part due to city ordinances prohibiting growing food or raising animals on their land.  People found it increasingly more difficult to find ways to grow their own food. The power to be more self-sustaining melted away for each of us over the next several decades.

When I was building my 4' x 4' raised garden bed frames, I experienced a sense of empowerment.  Literally and metaphorically, I was grabbing back some of my power.  I also did not know what I was getting myself into.

No cause for concern. I'm a professional.  And, I did get a good nights sleep at the Holiday Express.

All joking aside, I have no idea about what I am doing.  I took a class, made some notes, built a frame to grow food, and what the hell happens next.  Not sure. Magic glitter with butterflies will start coming out from  my belly button.

I expect that I will be taking a step to empower myself to make a better connection between the land, food grown in my yard, and the time I'll need to take to manage a small garden.

I feel like this is taking the power back once stolen so I can grow my food back and tell Big Brother off.  I am continuing the legacy of my ancestors who slaved as farmers, sharecroppers, and field workers. Generations followed and eventually ran away from their agrarian roots for the skilled labor force, higher education, and other fields.  My ancestors knew better than anyone else the back breaking work involved with farming.

The difference is that I do this by free choice.  I also need to because I believe in the end it will make my family healthier.

I submit that sustainable food as liberation is another act African Americans can embrace to ensure the prosperity of the community, families, and the coming generation.  However, for this to be a success, the sustainable food movement must find a new face to champion the cause.

Sustainable food can no longer be the movement of the already over-privileged, underground, anti-establishment and anti-corporation, and fashionable impoverished mostly white, middle-class who seem to shape the direction and intellectual dialogue.

It's time to diversify and invite those who've not come to the table and collaborate.  From the left leaning philosophy that supports sustainable food, it will be important to find ways to engage communities that requires an open heart and flexibility to share ideas while learning from new stakeholders: more working class people from different cultural backgrounds.

Examples exist in East Austin already found in the Blackshear Community Garden and another dozen across the area.

Let me percolate on this sustainable food as liberation idea a bit more to see what I can come up with.

Another project to keep me moving to my goal.  No need for a countdown.  I'm liking where I am today.  I'm looking forward to tomorrow.

Day 20 - Raise the Roof! (Ok, Raise the Bed)

As I burn the nearly midnight oil listening to Jodeci and Lauryn Hill's first albums from my youth, I am reminded how excited I was about their music.  They sang about romantic love, passion, and sexiness without us feeling filthy and tainted.  You did not walk away feeling love was faint or a foregone idea left to chumps and the desperate.

When the music stops, I realized that I had to start Pandora back up, who asked me if I was still listening.  It was a nice reminder of reality, the here and now.

Another day with the kids was a nice refresher before returning to a short work week and the grind.  In particular, I got to spend individual 'man to man' time with my youngest.  We chatted, finished a few chores, had a few moments of quiet, and I stopped to listen to what he had to say.  It was always amazing to me what an eleven year old has to say with his inquiries and musings about life, rights and wrongs, questions about bystanders walking as we drove about town, and his observations of the world.

I asked him if he enjoyed our Austin Black History tour the day before.  I was pleased to hear that he enjoyed it very much.

I attempted to start the day as before with two servings of water, but I did not get to it until nearly the noon hour when I was half starved and desperately thirsty.  I got caught up with my errands around town though.

Later in the day, I met up with my daughter, who returned from a half day with her violin at the University Interscholastic League (UIL) competition.  She was in a particularly good mood.  After she filled me in about her day, I decided to tell her how much I enjoyed my day with her during the tour the day before.  I figured my strategy would be different and I instead told her how I felt about it.

Similar to her brother, she committed that she had a good time as well, smiled my way, and went on talking about another UIL story.  As the kids spoke back and forth with one another on the trip to Home Depot, I could not help but feel pleasantly surprised as well as appreciative of them.  It was nice to have my experience match up with what I thought was their experience.

Kids and parents do not always have a synergy of experience because as expected we have different agendas, goals, wants, and needs.  On our way to Home Depot, I certainly had my own agenda.  I wanted to build a raised garden bed.

I wanted to start small with two 4' x 4' wooden beds to go in my yard.  I went to a class to learn how to build these myself.  However, the class had been at least a year ago.  I went to Home Depot and online to price out the materials while attempting to decipher the notes I made when I attended the class.

Thankfully, I made sense of what I could, bought the materials with the kids in tow.  With God's grace, all things are possible.  Yes, I just got finished gushing about my kids.  But, in about ten or fifteen minutes, I was about to bust some heads open.

Anyway, I purchased what I needed and waited until after dinner, putting the kids to bed before working on the first raised garden bed frame.  It wasn't pretty; sweat poured down and sideways across my face, glasses had to be cleaned at least a dozen times, and I wished I hadn't waited so long before applying what I learned.

Earlier at Home Depot, I had two 2" x 12' x 10' untreated wooden boards cut to 4' 3" 1/4 or 51" for each side of the raised garden bed, picked up 70 3" screws, a 2" x 2" x 8' length of wood, and a hand saw to cut the wood into 12" lengths of wood.

No worries.  I got one done.

Back hurting a bit, knees slightly throbbed, and blood rushed to my head when I finally stood from my pet project.  It was done.  I'll do the second one tomorrow. I'll need to return to Home Depot for more wood.  I miscalculated thinking I had enough for two beds.  Oh, well.  Shit happens!

Before I finished editing this blog, I finished the last two servings of water for the day.  All this and much more before the hand strikes midnight.  Is this how Cinderfella felt after the ball?

I did achieve my goal of eating more fruits and vegetables today.  The sweets fixation returned.  Temptation was strong as I did take a swig from my son's fruit punch.  I put it down, drank a glass of water, and consumed an orange.  The craving passed for the moment and returned once later in the day before eating dinner.

The cravings have become a bit unpredictable.  However, I'm responding relatively well.

I will be returning to a regular schedule at work tomorrow, which is something else to look forward to. Until then, I'll be relaxing like my follow brother in arms in the photo above.  It reflected my idea of a raised gardening bed.

Day 19 - Don't Need No Teeth to Eat

If someone told me that I had been blogging everyday and writing about the small nuances of each day while swearing off sweets at the same time, I'd tell them that they were crazier than horse shit.

The day before entering my first string of entries I watched the movie Contagion where a character said blogging is just graffiti with comas and periods.   The statement could be a discouraging statement.  However, for me, graffiti is a honorable art form.  So, anything that I could do to add of the urban cyber art, I am all for it.


Sunday morning . . . I woke up from a deep slumber earlier than expected after staying up well past a reasonable time.

I felt refreshed and a bit enthusiastic.  Almost immediately I knew what was the greatest priority for me: Visiting the historical spots in East Austin with my kids. My only concern was whether the kids would be willing to appease me for a moment.

Although most occasions as a parent, I am not so much concerned about having my kids buy-in.  Let's not confuse this situation with them having a choice in the matter. Rather, I would like that they enjoyed this planned excursion instead of being a couple of grumpy bugs passively and aggressively ignoring my efforts to teach and expose them to something.

We had breakfast and made our way to a few historical spots, starting with Robertson Hill, Olive Street School, Curve, Lydia, and Waller Streets.  We followed up with Oakwood Cemetery and the Swede Hill neighborhood.  With tired feet and weighed down attention spans, I tried to ask more questions and less lecturing to them.  On occasion, I checked in with them to ensure some of what was being said stuck in their expanding brains.

By the time we finished our Black History Tour del East End, the excursion was a limited success. It was also great to see these sites during the day with full sun shining.  The early morning darkness before made it difficult to see everything well.

For some reason, I still felt like a tourist, distant and a bit removed after the tour.  It wasn't like I was going to go door to door, conduct interviews for a qualitative investigation into the cultural mores of the local townspeople.  Of course, it is possible.  I've participated in at least two or three graduate student based investigations on the East Austin community.

On a whim, I took the kids with me to Sam's BBQ.  Since I do not eat red meat, barbeque generally has not been a big priority for me. I'd seen Sam's innumerable times over the years.  Never have I had the inclination to stop and see what it was like.  Impulsively, I've gone to Pokey Joe's and had Ruby's Barbeque at department get togethers in the past .

Truthfully, I thought they were lame as hell.  Tasteless, one time the chicken was cold, and the sauce was more like spicy sweet ketchup.  And, I do not like ketchup.  So, any suggestion to drive out thirty or more minutes to Lockhardt, Lulling, or West Hell, Texas, to eat at Salt Lick was totally out of the question.

For today, Sam's seemed to be the best opportunity to experience East Austin, talk to real people, and eat some good food.  All the reviews about Sam's were positive.  All the photos I saw reminded me of any whole-in-the-wall place I'd grown up with in anywhere across the South.

The kids and I arrived and I could not remember what took me so long to visit the spot. I felt a bit embarrassed that I had not been there earlier. I tried to read the menu, but Willie Mays, Sam's BBQ owner, asked me to tell him what I wanted.  I ordered and . . . BAM!  Mr. Mays served me my whole chicken, hot, a side of potato salad, and four slices of wheat bread.

I laughed inside as my son asked me what the bread was for.  As we ate, Willie sat during a slow period to chat me up as he watched my reaction to eating his food.  The small, friendly spot reminded me of a small town genuineness not oftentimes found in a large city.  The great thing about East Austin has been the ability of people to keep to their roots as much of the city seems to change around them.

I do not want to suggest that East Austinites are stuck in the past. I'm reminded that not every part of Austin is a recovering hippie enclave or WASP retreat primarily concerned with the latest IPad innovations, downloaded apps, the latest bar tips found on Foursquare, loyalties to a local indie band, and online Facebook gossip. There is nothing wrong with these things in themselves, but there is more in the world.

It's hard to describe how it felt to go to Sam's with my kids.  My kids probably did not care.  However, I was glad to be there with them.  Maybe it felt familiar to me because it reminded me of the many times my mother took me out on "country drives" through Oakland, California, or Fort Worth, Texas, when visiting friends or family.  It was like she'd search for the smallest, rankest spot on the map, stop to smell the air, and know we'd come to the right place to break bread and dine with kings.

After finishing some chores, touring East Austin, and lounging, I accomplished my intended goal to stay on track, drank my water, stayed sufficiently distracted from eating sweets, and spent quality time with the kiddos.  Not a bad day.

Day 18 - Winter Rains on 12th & Chicon (East Austin)

Old White Swan sign

As I sit around up late at night reflecting on the day's events, I find that I was quite bored and tired.  I slept part of the day.  Not sure if it was me getting old or genuine fatigue from the work week.

I started thinking about my maternal grandfather.  My mother told me a few stories about him going out to hang with friends and listen to music off of 12th Street.

Before my mother passed, I took her around Austin in hopes that she may teach me a thing or two about her days during desegregation, the Civil Rights movement, and her short time while residing in Austin.

Mom always talked about how country parts of east, north and south Austin were in her time.  Going to 45th Street was a special place if you were crazy, since the Texas State Hospital was built there.

Today, for me, the state hospital seems a short ride down I-35 highway with a quick detour to Central Market coupled with a brisk stroll in the area park, ending with warm kolaches from the Kolache Factory.

So, I took a brief ride over to 12th and Chicon Streets to take a look at my grandfather's old stomping grounds.  I had a feeling as I peered into the eyes of the multiple vagrants meandering about that things had changed from times in the 1950s.

When I moved to Austin, I stumbled upon 'crack and ho' alley smack through 12th and Chicon.  It was a bit less intimidating than anything I came across in the Murder 5th, a horrible name describing the rough 5th Ward District in Houston, Texas, where I grew up as a small child, or the boogie down South Bronx that I favored when I worked and lived up in New York/New Jersey. Nonetheless, for Austin, 12th and Chicon had become synonymous with prostitution, crime, vagrancy, open drug use, and any under belly activity the city's conscience could imagine.

Despite its reputation, 12th and Chicon has a memorable history all its own as another hot spot for music, food, drink, and fun times for African Americans.  Both 11th and 12th Streets were lit at night by historic moonlight towers, a cost effective lighting structure, designed to light the midnight sky in Austin starting in the 1880s as an alternative to smaller and more expensive street lights. Austin is one of the few remaining cities in America that continues to use  a system of moonlight towers.

I tried to imagine my younger, cool grandfather walking by the moonlight tower's illumination to find a friend at the Legendary White Swan located near 12th and Chicon.  Down the way, there was Sam's Barbeque serving the best meats and cold drinks money could buy.  First stop, Sam's BBQ for a small bit of some brisket and some sides topped off with lemon aid to cool himself during the hot humid night.  Half a block down, there was The White Swan, a juke joint and place to see and be seen by everyone with good music and loud laughter as people walked about at night.

Now, most people would probably be scared to drive by let alone walk around the intersection. Recently, the Legendary White Swan came under new management and considerably much whiter as hipsters and the like came to see the local dive as a new hang out spot.  Liken to my grandfather, the White Swan continues to be a place to hear soul music with the addition of a variety of less well-known artists from all around.  It use to be part of the famous Chitlin' Circuit and has transformed itself into a dive part of the hipster circuit. A small cultural miracle it seems.

The funny thing about 12th Street is that it has served as the boundary between historic African American neighborhoods of Rosewood and Chestnut in East Austin.  Chicon separated these neighborhoods from the few blocks to Swede Hill. However, with segregation in full swing by the 1950s, many of the Italian, Irish, Swedish, and German residents left East Austin as part of the white flight out of East Austin and the forced relocation of most African Americans east of I-35.

I never had the pleasure of talking with my grandfather about his time in Austin or much of anything.  The sad thing about the death of older people is that their memories go with them.  I'm left to wonder and imagine what times were like for him and his young family.

The little that I've learned has to be shared with my children.  On Sunday, I'm going to have a historic tour with the kids to show them the locations and talk about the history they continue.

After some reflection, the day was not a total waste as it may have seemed.

I still passively struggle with getting my water in on the weekend as I continued to this day.  However, I made it a point to keep eating my vegetables if only as a new habit that I am learning to maintain despite my best efforts to forget.

The rain should clear up.  Looking forward to tomorrow's excursion into the past.

Sam's BBQ in East Austin

Day 17 - Can You Believe it? Rain, Again

If you want to hide something well, put it in plain sight.

In general, I've thought about the saying when my mother would ask me to go look for something when I was a child.  I'd without fail, turn around to her and ask, "Where?"

In frustration, my mother looked at me, tilted her head a bit to the left in silence.  It was her signal to me to take a better look at the situation. In many cases, the item desired would be sitting right there in plain sight.

As I've grown older, I've learned the same is the case with th e city Ilive in.  For example, I met a man in the Bronx, who was born and raised in Brooklyn.  His trip to the Bronx was his first.  I also learned in my conversation with him that he had never seen the Statue of Liberty in person. It was hard to believe how a man older than  Methuselah never took the time to see the Statue of Liberty, which was a train and boat ride away.

Unfortunately, I've had to accept that people are invisible to one another everyday.  Today, invisible people tend to be the homeless, who I sometimes find myself ignoring to avoid giving them money or a bit of banter at the stop light.  On my better days, I chat, acknowledge, or, at least, wave back to be friendly.

Whole parts of my neighborhood go unnoticed it seems as well.  There is a cemetery that I pass with great frequency throughout the week.  If you've driven down Martin Luther King, Jr. Boulevard, gone to a University of Texas baseball or softball game, passed through the East Side to avoid I-35 highway traffic, you've probably seen the oldest cemetery in Austin: Oakwood Cemetery.

Oakwood Cemetery was my next destination as I biked through the light rain.  As the oldest cemetery in Austin, it literally holds plenty of history. The first people to be laid at the oldest section were victims of a Comanche attack around 1836. For a cemetery where Texas governors, legislators, and other notable politicians lay buried, it also has a number of African American, Jewish, and Hispanic people laid to rest there as well. Since 1850, the forty-acre cemetery has been owned by the City of Austin,

I could not ride through the cemetery at the early hour; however, as I took a few laps around to view the hollowed grounds, I saw over 175 years of Austin history.  In comparison to the Texas State Cemetery with its nice greens, trimmed and cared for live oaks, museum, and many water features, Oakwood is a shit hole.  No paved roads, grass is as bad of shape as any unkempt empty residential lot, and full to the brim.

Oakwood Cemetery is directly adjacent to the Swede Hill neighborhood, which was a small community of Swedish immigrants and their families who settled in East Austin.  It is nestled in an area mostly unnoticed unless someone gets lost looking for a cafe on 12th Street or if you're nosing around, probably looking at East Austin properties.

In the early hours, I took my bike around Oakwood Cemetery and Swede Hill to make sure I took a much longer look.  I did not know the people who resided in Swede Hill. I did not know the history of the people buried at Oakwood.  I didn't want to pass them by unnoticed, blind to the people who settled there, nurtured families, made careers, loved, and died.

Among African traditions, honoring the dead is one of many ways of demonstrating respect.  It is also an opportunity to utter their names in stories, tell old tales of times almost forgotten, recollect fond memories, and teach values.  Honoring them specifically by speaking their names also was an opportunity to keep them alive not just in our personal memories but in the afterlife as our ancestors watched over the community.

Once an ancestor's name discontinues to be spoken, it was their time to pass on to the next phase in the afterlife.  To keep them literally present to watch over the community in the afterlife, meant talking about them in this life.

So, as I road my bike pass the Oakwood Cemetery and through Swede Hill, I stopped to read out the names of people on the tomstones and the historical markers in hopes that maybe their lives would be remembered and honored, or maybe pray for a lesson to be learned. At minimum, I remembered to take notice a bit more especially at the little things I may pass everyday without notice.  As I rode through the early morning, I tried a bit more mindfulness in the moment, feeling the road under my bike, the air passing through my legs, and the moist rain landing on my face.

For today, I remember Jacob Fontaine, who came to Austin as a slave to an Episcopal minister, Edward Fontaine (a great grandson of Patrick Henry), and established the First (Colored) Baptist Church  in 1867.  He founded five other churches in the area, published a newspaper called Gold Dollar, and urged Black voters at the time to support a 1881 bid for the University of Texas to be located in Austin.

A little known fact: Rev. Jacob Fontaine help found Wheatville, the first emancipated black, Freedman community in Austin, named for James Wheat, a freedman who was its first property owner and resident. Wheatville is where the current West Campus is located between 24th and 26th streets with the hub designated at San Gabriel Street in the Fanzetti Building. The Wheatsville Co-op is named in honor of the old Wheatville community.

Today was spent on much to contemplate.  Temptation continued to be held at bay except during times when feeling pretty thirsty.  I left the house for work without drinking my first two servings of water.  Lunch ended up being a wash with a Whataburger chicken sandwich and onion rings, no sweet drinks, of course.

Later in the evening, it was more food and lots more water into the night.  I got to get out of this habit of rewarding myself with fatty foods after a long week of work.  I do not think I need to avoid them as much as include vegetables and fruit as part of my meal.  I did think of those vegetables, but they only came as an after thought.  I do not find myself pining after vegetables or fruits.  I must work on making it a habit.

Day 16 - More Austin, East of I-35 Love

Picture of Joe Sing

Thursday morning was not the same pop up and kiss the sky kind of morning as was yesterday.

I was dragging ass like lard was a paper weight in my pants.  I heard the clock alarm go off . . .

I just looked at it, noise blaring in the morning chill.  I finally turned off both my clock alarm and the cell alarm  that followed moments later.  I could not stand it anymore.  So, I laid in my warm bed, studied the numbers on the neon green clock radio and listened to National Public Radio talk about the Republican Presidential primary and the economy.

This was not in God's plan.

I had a few days under my belt and, as tired as I felt, I still felt compelled to rise this morning.  With dry spit on my face, I sure did not give a goddamn how I looked.  I rolled out of bed in my Batman underwear, grappled with staying atop my two left feet, and somehow made it to the restroom. With the lights off, I'm pretty sure I was in the right position to unload the two quarts of water I drank the night before as I went to bed.

My eyes did not need to adjust yet as I returned to sit on the corner of my bed contemplating the apparent insanity that rose me from death's grip.  My heart was not into this morning exercise thing, but I went with what little willpower I could muster.  I listened to the Republicans hammer at each other and again at President Obama.  It was enough to peek my curiosity to listen more to the story and clothe myself in the dark.

I watched the clock strike six o'clock in the morning, which was pretty late if I was going to get a good start.  However, I had already decided that I needed to make a short stop on my walk this morning.

I could not recall one of the Asian family's  that settled in East Austin. So, I rose up and intently walked around the Cesar Chavez area near Lady Bird Lake in search of the Texas Historical Marker to jog my memory.

Many people may not think of East Austin as home to any Asian Americans, but long ago, there was a prominent Chinese immigrant who ran a laundry business on 5th Street.  In the late 1800's, Jo Feng Sheng or Joe Sing came to Austin by way of New York City and New Orleans.  A native of southern China off the South China Sea, Mr. Sing came to Austin during a time when there were only thirty Chinese people, almost all men, residing in the city.

Mr. Sing remained while many other Chinese left due to discrimination (i.e., racism and inability to own property) and difficulty finding work and opportunity.  However, he met and later married Frances Moreno (Sing), a Mexican American who subsequently lost her citizenship when she married Mr. Sing. They went on to have four children.

I thought it important to mention, even if brief, the legacy of Mr. Sing and the other Chinese immigrants who came to settle in Austin.  Although many Chinese would not come to stay in East Austin, I thought the Sing family story was an important one to share.  Sing and other prominent Asian immigrants and Asian Americans came to provide a contribution to the history and culture of Austin.


In particular, Mr. Sing's life illustrated his integration into East Austin, managed a business, and thrived in the community.  His story and that of many Asians can be easily overlooked due to the small numbers who initially resided here.

I cannot clearly articulate the importance of telling part of the Sing story.  For some reason, it felt dishonorable to leave it out.  Of course, there are plenty of stories being left out.  However, on my walk around the East Austin, the Sing family story, the house Mr. Sing's daughter bought on Willow Street, which is the one I pass on occasion during my walks, are meaningful tidbits of what I learned to be part of the East Austin identity.

There is more to learn, experience, honor, and criticize.  As I walked home, I wondered what it was like for a man during the turn of the 20th century in a foreign land, nurture a family, grow a business, and develop friendships. Mr. Sing's story and that of the thousands who have lived and worked in East Austin would probably fill volumes.  I hope my legacy in some small way honors the path these trailblazers made for us.

Today, it was not hard at all to stay on track by staying away from sweets. There were a few tempting situations.  The pound of chocolates and fruit flavored candies in my car trunk was one.  The other came from a box of post-Valentine's Day candy sitting in the office all day.  Neither of the temptations were worthy of my attention.  I did remove the candy from my trunk as soon as I realized I might be driving back home with it still in my car.  Yeah, I had to get rid of that satanic sweetness.

Water . . . check, fruit and vegetables . . .  check, glass of wine while I write this blog entry . . . double check.  Today is a good day!

Now, will someone tell those hipsters walking about my neighborhood to shut the hell up?!!! Can't they talk softly as they traispe down the street!  Day workers like me have to get up and walk in the morning. :)