tonight after school and work we went to the potrero hill neighborhood house to check out a fundraiser for daniel webster school. there was a drum teacher from ( i think) ghana who was full of positivity, young with a huge smile, and had lots of kids up there playing drums with him on stage. there was west african food and drinks reminiscent of the baobab. after a good two hours of kids jumping off the stage, boys attempting to scale chain link fences, binocular spy action, attempts at adult conversation, babies with death wishes careening towards gaps in the balcony railing, and maya sipping innocently on my cocktail maya and i left. it was getting cold and windy, this weather ever-changing. rich and miles stayed a little while, and with most distractions gone, miles got into it and played african drums for a while.
i have been reading alice walker essays: we are the ones we have been waiting for, which i picked up at the library. she is pretty darn radical and i makes me feel a little lazy and guilty but it is hard to not agree with everything she writes. definitely felt some of what she writes about tonight--musicians and mamas working together to make money for schools, food and music for the people there. a little bit of america spending wisely, loving children. we did manage to make it through the evening without a single kid falling off the balcony or breaking an ankle jumping from the stage.
i hear a plane overhead, loud enough to be close by. guinea pigs skittering around their cage. a siren, of course. rich spooning the last of his chicken soup from a bowl. if i try hard i can stay peaceful this evening. maybe sleep the whole night through.
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