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Last year in mid-April, Dad fell, resulting in a fractured hip. In his 80s, Dad’s life-altering accident meant that going places had been very challenging. Even within his own house.
Bought in 1979, my parents’ house has three sets of stairs. Upon entering the front door, one can go down three stairs to the den or up four stairs to the kitchen/living room/dining room area. Once on the second floor, one can go up the longest flight of stairs to the bedrooms and bathrooms.
Going to His Recliner
Over the past several months, Dad practiced walking with assistance, but always relied on the chairlifts for two out of three of the stairs. The stairs leading down into the den remained off limits. Until the evening of the Super Bowl.
A week prior to the event, Mom had finally won the hard-fought battle of in-home caregiver assistance seven days a week for six hours a day and at least one day with twelve hours for her respite.
Given that extra pair of hands, my sister and I wanted to bring Dad all the way downstairs to join us, watching the Super Bowl. At least so he could see the first two quarters, some commercials and the much-anticipated Usher halftime show.
Not that Dad cared one iota about any of it. Of course, Dad used to enjoy watching sporting events on TV all of the time, but the portable TV that he watches in his bedroom, which is brought down to the living room where his recliner is, isn’t connected to cable. He watches the free programing available through Firestick.
Most evenings, Dad starts his protest for someone to take him upstairs so he can go to bed an hour or two after dinner. Mom counters that he cannot go to until around 7:30 PM. Otherwise, Dad will wake her up before sunrise, wanting something or other.
One of the miracles of the Super Bowl, from the start until the end of the halftime show, was that it held Dad’s attention. He didn’t doze off, protest to go to bed nor ask for anything. Once the halftime show was over, we had no problems transporting him up the short flight of stairs to the first chairlift, the second chairlift and to his bedroom.
The entire evening wore Dad out, but in a wonderful way. There aren’t too many TV events that would hold his attention nor be worth the effort.
Now with the warming weather and the new preowned wheelchair van, Dad will be venturing out more often. At least we now know that part of his adventure will include the den.
I’ve taken many stretching and yoga classes before, but never with goats. I would have taken this 90-minute stretch class even without the goats, but they were definitely the stars of the event.
Kids in the Cubbies
This was the first time in their monthlong lives that they had been inside a building. Initially, their hooves couldn’t find purchase on the smooth floor, but goats are natural climbers and adapt to any terrain. Once they figured out how to walk, their first destination was checking out the cubbies. Didn’t even matter that it was a deadend. Couldn’t blame them though. How often do humans dwell in deadend situations as if we’re doing something?
Cuddling with a Kid
But we didn’t allow the four stars of the event to hang out in the cubbies. Their human hadn’t bothered to name them since she’d plan to give them away in the near future. In the meantime, we just referred to them by their diaper colors: Black, Purple, Red and Orange. So, I posed with Purple while Red photobombed.
I’d asked many questions the week prior to this event such as how many baby goats would be present, how much they weighed and their size. I just knew that they’d jump on everyone and everything. However, they were remarkably shy around us, but very curious about nibbling on the curtains, the artificial flowers and other decorations.
Feeding Time
At one point, their human put them on our backs while we were in child’s pose. They skedaddled almost too soon before a picture could be taken.
Next up: the babies needed their bottles. I fed Black, the only male goat. He took that bottle so aggressively. The last time I’d fed a goat, I was a kid myself at a petting zoo. As Mom stepped backwards, trying to capture a good composition, she thought she’d stepped on someone’s foot. When she turned around to apologize, she saw that she’d stepped on a goat’s hoof while it was nibbling on the hem of her shirt.
Action Pose
Then, I passed Black to my friend, so she could feed him. After a while, she passed him off to another woman to feed him. That’s when all hell broke loose. His diaper had loosened, releasing dry fecal pellets all over her mat. My friend and I had dodged that bullet.
Yet, Black kept getting out of his diaper. Just like a rebellious guy.
Speaking of a rebellion, for seemingly no rhyme or reason, one kid would bleat and get the others going. The stretch instructor did her best to talk around their noise, but we were half-distracted anyway by their antics.
Sleeping Standing Up
After being fed one bottle each, the kids were ready for a nap…standing up. Three of them congregated around the mirror while the fourth curled up near the corner. Whatever was in that milk, I need to drink some of that to help me sleep some nights.
As advertised, the interactions with the goats left me much happier than when I’d arrived.
I’ve hardly ever experienced the cliche, romantic celebration of this so-called holiday, but I’ve always looked for interesting activities such as a themed pole dancing choreography class. The workshop was so popular that students doubled up on poles, which suited me just fine because I would have been exhausted had I danced the entire two hours.
As a matter of fact, the woman who I shared with, hadn’t taken classes as long as I had. So, I gave her some basic pointers about hand, shoulder and foot placement. So much of pole dancing is physics.
However, I’ll need more years of practice before I can dance with the emotion and artistry of my teacher:
Hard to believe that I’ve been working on my World’s Sexiest Dictionary for several years now. So long in fact, that a pandemic has come and gone and yet, I’m still working on this project, which was a radical idea at the time and even now, still motivates me to pour energy into on a daily basis.
Computer Paper & Watercolor Crayons
My humble beginnings started off with regular computer paper and watercolor crayons. My logic was since the crayons was a new medium, I’d start practicing with the cheapest paper possible. If I could make that look decent, then I’d spend money on the better materials.
When I was at a social event, I told an art teacher about the illustration project I was working on. Without knowing what assbackwards method I had been using, she asked if I using a digital illustration app. Of course not, but I took her advice.
Rough Draft Digital
A month before the 2020 COVID pandemic shutdown, I bought a tablet and the digital app and started my journey to learn another new medium. Not only was it an easier process, but it was portable and involved no clean up.
One of the many lessons that I learned in having to complete 156 illustrations was that my inner critic had to be OK with leaving an illustration looking “good enough,” whatever that meant at the time. I had faith that my technique would improve over time. All I had to do was keep moving forward.
Final Draft Digital
I’ve called this third rendition of the 156 illustrations the “FINAL” set. I’m not going to stop digital illustrating, but I’ve finally hit a level with this project where I could complete them, publish them, and then move on.
When I signed up for my Sunday hot yoga class, I noted that the class would be taught by a sub. Although I really liked the regular instructor, whose thematic playlists included “spelling bee” (songs that spelled at least one word), and cars/”riding” (songs that mentioned cars or sex), I knew that I’d still get a good workout.
Since I’d attended class at that studio several times, I confidently set up in the front row beside the only other person in that row, a Black man. A few minutes later, one of my dance friends set up in the front row on the other side of me. My attention totally went to talking with her as we did our pre-class warm ups.
After finishing my hip-opening exercises, I laid on my back with my eyes closed for a few minutes.
When I heard the substitute yoga instructor welcoming the class, I didn’t immediately open my eyes, but, I’d hoped that he wasn’t looking at me since I trust that I pulled a face.
The Black guy beside me was the sub. I knew that the sub would be a guy, yet I wasn’t expecting a Black guy. I’d practiced yoga for over 30 years and had white/Asian/Latino/gay/recovering addict male yoga teachers, but NEVER a Black male.
I admonished myself for initially picturing a white sub. I wouldn’t have mentally put myself in the time-out corner if the sub had been in any other demographic.
Throughout class, I processed my assumptions, but not to the point that I didn’t keep up with class. I still got my experience’s worth, especially with one of my exercise friends right beside me, who motivated me to do my best. After all, in the other stretch class that we attended, that instructor would literally call us out if we didn’t take the advanced modifications for certain stretches.
After class, I thanked the sub, just like I did after every other class I’d attended. I also took myself out of the corner, comforting myself that other than my initial reaction to discovering that the yoga teacher was a Black man and possibly his seeing a brief change of my facial expression if he’d happened to be looking at me in that moment when he started class, I hadn’t outwardly acted differently.
Since I believe in being the change I want to see in the world, I openly acknowledge my bias. I also realize that no matter how open-minded I am, assumptions still sneak up on me. My only saving grace was that I still practiced as I would have normally. I even avoided any awkward or microaggression of over-thanking him for being the first Black male yoga teacher I’d ever had after three decades.
I’m going to save that revelation for after I know him for a while.
I used to advise people to hug a Black person as part of their MLK Day celebration. I’d even ask people who weren’t Black if they had hugged a Black person on this day, and then offer to give them a hug to help them celebrate. Honestly, that may have been the only thing they did or only time they ever celebrated, but it’s better than nothing.
My sister and I were looking for something to do since we both had the day off. Yet, nothing was happening in town. Even the out of town celebrations didn’t quite speak to us. And then it happened: Dad fell out of bed.
More accurately, Dad miscalculated and ended up on the floor. He had arranged the sparse furniture in his room to put himself into his wheelchair. His plan was to exit his bedroom and then place himself into the wheelchair lift to go downstairs.
I heard the thud from the den and raced up two flights of stairs to maneuver him back in bed.
I used to say that Dad has “early dementia,” but that’s a hazy explanation about how Dad thinks. Dad has lost his mental acuity, yet he still remembers who we are. More importantly, he remembers who he is. A tough Vietnam Vet chestnut who’d attempt to rig up an escape route out of his hospital bed just to go downstairs.
Mom said that he’d forgotten that he couldn’t walk. I disagree. I believe that Dad, like most people, can achieve some incredible things when he puts his mind to it. Most days, he has no motivation to exercise even though that would help with maintaining and improving his leg strength, especially when he wants to take himself downstairs without our assistance.
While Mom hopes/wishes/prays for Dad to walk again, I’d had enough. I researched senior living facilities to accommodate Dad. Not just for his sake, but for Mom’s as well. My motivation is to place Dad in a facility before Mom can no longer be independent.
As Dad’s primary caregiver, Mom’s mental and physical health have been compromised from trying too hard to maneuver him, assisting with most daily activities and then restbroken when he calls for her in the middle of the night.
The plan came together. I arranged tours of three local facilities, which all offered memory care, the highest level of assisted living without being a skilled facility. I think. It’s all still very new to me.
Whereas some people perform community service on MLK Day, the service I performed was for my parents. My sister stayed with Dad while I helped Mom navigate to the facilities and take notes during the tours.
As it turned out, the facility that we both liked the best was the furthest away. All three seemed close in price range even though they differed in the level of quality from resort to asylum.
Even before we toured the facilities, Mom found the idea of filling out financial aid paperwork, which detailed their assets to be abhorrent. At least she learned that Dad would probably not qualify for additional VA benefits since he’s 100% disabled.
To say that she clutches the purse strings tightly is an understatement. Yet, she has to make the decision to place Dad in the best place she can afford before her own health deteriorates further. At the same time, Mom continues to hope/wish/pray for Dad’s mobility to dramatically improve.
All I can do is assist her with doing research and keep my sisters informed about what’s going on. We seem to be on the same page, but Mom cannot be rushed. Mom believes that she’s going to “sleep on it.”
Until Dad breaks her sleep in the middle of the night.
Later during the evening on MLK day, I attended a dance class. I offered to give a hug to anyone who hadn’t hugged a Black person. They all rushed in for a group hug.
I’d made the best use of a 10-day vacation, which ended on New Year’s day. Although I’d slept in every day, I was creatively productive, which was the best gift/celebration I could ever ask for.
Mom & Me in Our Xmas Sweaters
While sporting my new Christmas sweater, I made some recipes that I’d been wanting to try out for months, but hadn’t taken the time to make.
First up was making “bacon” out of coconut flakes. I flavored it with liquid smoke, paprika and some other things that I cannot remember, then baked it in the oven for a few minutes. It was one of those tastes that you’d expect you’re not going to like, but it never quite reached the “dissatisfaction” point. Doesn’t mean that it was very tasty either. Yet, for days, I sprinkled some on my pasta and eggs in the morning for breakfast.
I quartered Brussel sprouts, coated them with coconut oil, seasoned them and baked them in the oven. While the sprouts baked, I made a cheese sauce. The part that apparently only I liked about this dish was that I’d boiled the fettuccine only to al dente. When my sister tried my pasta, she told me that the pasta wasn’t cooked all the way. I told her that it was the texture that Italians ate their pasta. She glared at me, saying, “We ain’t Italian.” Mom didn’t bother trying it, which means I had most of my delicious pasta for myself.
Brussel Sprout Fett w Coconut “Bacon” Flakes
The next morning, I tried my hand at baking bagels in the air fryer. Not that I’m a big bagel fan, but more out of curiosity of making bagels with Greek yogurt. Now, this was a recipe that I’d try again. I underestimated how much the dough would fluff up, making those tiny holes that I’d pierced in the middle were useless. Had there remained a hole throughout the baking process, then the bagels may have been cooked all the way through due to the increased surface area. The easy fix was to slice them in half and microwave for a few seconds. Still delicious.
PreCooked Greek Yogurt Bagels
On New Year’s Day, I wanted to start the year off right by dressing up. To honor the leap year, I put on my colorful socks that have wings at the top. Any excuse to dress up, really. The picture has too much going on in the background to clearly see the wings–or the chopping knife! I’ll just try to maintain the fun energy in this picture throughout the year.
I knew one of the tasks I was going to accomplish during my 10-day Kwanzaa break was to conquer the cable monster lurking in the corner of my bedroom. I’d battled with it periodically and felt defeated every time I spent far longer than I cared to to liberate whichever cord I needed.
Multi-Legged Cable Beast
Apparently, that was my foreshadowing of things to come. I spent, what felt like over two hours, detangling and wrapping up cords. I hadn’t bothered to take note of the start time because I’d underestimated how long organizing that mess of outdated technology would take.
Tamed Beast
I did myself the favor of using the different compartments in the bag to sort out the type of cords, plugs and other stuff that I had amassed over the years.
The only reason I didn’t completely lose my mind/temper was thanks to the audiobooks I’d downloaded from the Austin Public Library. (Yes, I pay to still have access to that wonderfully, rich virtual library!) I finished one audiobook and nearly completed another. Granted, I’d listened to each of them in rotation, so I wasn’t starting from scratch.
Fortunately for me, my sister had invited me to go to the movies. I’d gotten out of the habit of going to the movies since the pandemic, but given how I’d resolved an organizational nightmare, I’d earned something special.
Leading up to Christmas, I started wearing my Santa hat and other Christmasy clothing out everywhere I went. I had a few different outfits, depending on the event. For exercise class, my leggings did the trick, but I saved the showiest Christmas attire for the upcoming show.
Prior to Stretch/Flex Class
I’d written a Christmas show for my family as their gift. The first challenge was personalizing the event. I came up with five different sets of Candy Cane awards for each of my family members, based on either funny/traditional things that happened during past Christmases or things that were uniquely funny to the individual.
Dad’s Entrance
The second challenge was choosing a secular Christmas song that paired with the award. Yes, I’m well-aware that on the surface, “secular Christmas song” appears to be an oxymoron, but thanks to the internet, I had absolutely no problem finding nonreligious, Christmastime songs that paired with each award.
Getting Settled in
Next, I collaborated with the pole fitness studio where I’ve taken a variety of classes. They had never done an event like this. Outside of their regular classes, the studio hosted student-instructor showcases and private parties.
The two past showcases that I attended had Halloween and Christmas themes. Those free events allowed pole students to practice performing in front of an all-woman audience of family and friends while instructors used the opportunity to entice students to their classes.
Taking in the Ambiance
Private parties, on the other hand, are 60 to 90-minute private pole fitness (pole/chair/floor/aerial) class where an instructor teaches a group of people who booked the event outside of the regular class schedule.
PreShow Pose
I knew for a fact that the private party was out. I could only envision one sister and one nephew being even remotely interested in taking a pole class. Yet, I knew all of them would enjoy being audience members.
The first pair of Candy Cane Awards went to the best Nana-Grandson dance. After showing the clip of those two dancing last Christmas, the first dancer performed to that classic hiphop tune, “Christmas in Hollis” by Run DMC.
Floorography Dancer
The second pair of Candy Cane Awards went to the wordsmiths of the family, so the next performance was to Jasmine Rae’s “Christmas Alphabet.”
Liquid Motion Dancer
The third pair of Candy Cane Awards was for the Christmas chefs in the family. Fittingly, the next performance was to Snoop Dogg’s “Just Eat.”
Static Pole Dancer
The fourth pair of Candy Cane Awards was for the songstresses in the family. As an inside joke, the next performance was danced to Shonen Knife’s “Space Christmas.”
Spin Pole Dancer
The last Candy Cane Award was dedicated to my 85 year-old father, a Vietnam Vet and real-live Superman. His song was danced to Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas Is You.”
Lyra Dancer
Another moment I knew that everyone was waiting for…pictures with the dancers.
Final Bow
I started off the picture parade with the dancers, all of whom were my instructors.
Dancers & Host
When I first started planning for this event, I predicted that one of my sisters and a nephew would probably be the only two who would want to learn a simple pole trick. My brother-in-law disproved that hypothesis.
Brother-in-law Boogie
We also had a few traditional Christmas pictures since there was a decorated tree, albeit topped with Hedwig from the Harry Potter series.
Hedwig Christmas Tree Pose
I directed my parents to take their traditional picture in front of the tree since we didn’t have one set up at home.
Parents Christmas Pose
The very next group picture featured Dad. The most effort had been made to accommodate him.
Dad & Dancers
As I explained to everyone, this was the first time Dad had been out of the house since mid April and it not be a doctor’s appointment.
Dad Showing Off Candy Cane Award
I encouraged my nephew to take his group picture because this would be one of the rare times he’d be surrounded by women he’s not related to.
Nephew & Dancers
My brother-in-law, for all his initial spontaneous pole enthusiasm, took a straight pose with shades–as if he’d be disguised.
Brother-in-Law & Dancers
My nieces and nephew took a group picture together, warming up to the idea of posing solo with the dancers.
Siblings & Dancers
However, their mother was raring to go. She took a pose suggestion and then latched on.
Sister & Dancers
Not to be outdone…
Sister & Dancers
Now, the niece, who had modeling experience, finally warmed up to striking a pose.
Niece & Dancers
I let it slip that my nephew did parkour, so the dancers stood back to check out his skills.
Nephew & Dancers
The pole was more of a challenge. The dancers helped a brother out.
Assisted Parkour Pose
Since her younger sister and brother had struck a pose, my other niece took her turn.
Niece & Dancers
Last, but certainly not least, Mom wrapped her leg around the pole.
Mom & Dancers
I don’t know who made the request, but I should have known better not to grab that pole. I’d written, produced and hosted the show. I had officially done enough at this point. The last thing I needed to do was climb the pole with those “teflon” stockings I was wearing, preventing me from climbing.
Surrounded by My Instructors
Now this was the only pose I should have attempted in the first place:
Sisters’ Pose
This was my first event with my new digital camera. With its blurry images and wonky cinematography, I call my first attempt “so bad it’s humorously good.” Enjoy!
Originally, I wanted to gift everyone in my family a deluxe pedicure. Too many didn’t care to try a different nail salon or get a pedicure at all. Besides, that was only the first among many different ideas that crossed my mind for a nonmaterialistic family Christmas gift experience.
Nonetheless, I continued getting my monthly mani-pedi. This time around, I took one of my nephews with me.
He wasn’t exactly thrilled to go since he had never been before. Besides, in his mind, it wasn’t a manly thing to do. Manly or not, his toenails looked horrible. Moreover, it’s never a bad thing to help this nephew out with his grooming/hygiene.
He took it all in, watching the nail tech prep my feet since his nail tech didn’t arrive until about 15 minutes after mine had started. As much as I wanted to witness the look on his face while he was went through the process of getting a pedicure, I was done before he was and left the area to get my manicure.
I especially wanted to see the look on his face when the woman rubbed hot flat stones all over his legs and when he submerged his feet into a gel-like substance. The latter threw me off the first time I’d experienced it.
Although he gave a lackluster confirmation that he enjoyed the experience, he took a business card once I finished paying. When I asked him why he needed a business card, he sheepishly smiled and told me “to look at it.” Time will tell what silly reason he thinks he needs the nail salon’s contact information.
