The Return of Pumpkin Spice & Ahsoka

My second Halloween celebration was for the kids. Two local churches joined forces for a Trunk or Treat event on Sunday evening. As usual, my sister set up a face painting table, which is usually a very popular activity, but I helped direct interest her way with my costume like a living, breathing billboard of her handiwork.

Pumpkin Spice

Even from across the parking lot, everyone knew who I was dressed as. One mother told me once I reached the church grounds that her kids were so happy that Ahsoka was there. Apparently no one cared that I couldn’t keep that headpiece on straight. That was my main battle as this Star Wars character. At some point, I’ll have to finish watching the series. I only stopped because I was advised to watch “Clone Wars” first, so I could better understand what was happening in the latest series.

Halloween Duo

Last year, I’d set up the trunk of my car and ran a game, but this time around, my sister and I had joined forces at the same table. Although I ran my game and passed out candy, my main job was to keep the kids in an orderly line and get them to think about what they wanted painted on their face or arm.

Ghostly Game

We’d even set out three chairs for the kids to sit in as they waited. To a certain degree, that scheme kept things orderly, but as the crowd swelled, the line branched between a standing line and a sitting line. Fortunately, no fights broke out.

By the time my sister painted the last kid’s face, I had to shine a light just so she could see. After packing up our things, we walked back to her car to load up the supplies. A parent who was driving by, slowed down, rolled down her window and screamed, “Love your costume!”

Totally worth the effort. So happy that we could add to the festivities on such a beautiful evening for an outdoor event.

My sister believes that getting a lot of fresh air makes you sleepy. This event definitely proved that theory. Although I didn’t do any strenuous activity during this event, I was prematurely tired and slept well. One holiday, creatively spent. Six more in the next four months to go!

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Halloween 2023

Last year, I had a very low key Halloween since I didn’t dress up although I participated in a Halloween event for the children at my parents’ church. My mind was still adjusting to relocating back home. So, my energy was mostly for survival rather than creativity. Halloween had snuck up on me and passed me by.

Chair Dance Class

Not this time. I ordered my costume before October. Although I bought an adult women’s large, the head piece could have only fit a child’s head. I then learned that most tailors in town were either fully booked until the end of October or they didn’t make costume alterations. Fortunately my sister knew a woman whose side hustle was costume-making.

Witchy Xmas Tree

She and her husband had an incredible number of action figures around their living room and dining room along with three adorable dogs. I knew I’d found my seamstress. She flawlessly enlarged the headpiece after a week.

Festive Ahsoka Pose

Another unexpected challenge was getting one of my costume accessories: eyelashes. First of all, I don’t enjoy shopping, which is why when I look at the items I need to pick up for the week, I get them all, preferably, at one place. If not one place, then I plan to visit places that are close together to save both time and money. So, for this shopping excursion, Walmart.

3 Haunted Chair Dancers

Normally, that would have been OK, but not this time. Apparently, if a customer needs an item that is locked behind glass, not only does the customer need to hunt down an employee, but the employee has to escort the customer around the store until in the check out line. I went pie-eyed when the employee told me that. For $10 worth of lashes and glue, I got my very own Walmart escort to deter theft. I told him that he was fortunate that I only needed one other item before checking out. Just to compare, I ended up going to three other stores a few days later and they were all swinging in eyelashes for just anyone to take!

Head Skeleton in Charge

My costume came together the day of my event: a ladies only Halloween dance showcase. All the performers were teachers and students. Although I’d been invited to perform, I happily told everyone that I was coming to pose.

Feeling Halloweeny

My sister, who’s an art teacher, painted my face, arms, shoulders and back. Thank goodness because I wouldn’t have even attempted this costume without her assistance. I could have done a decent job with the design on my face, but not the rest. Talk about costuming commitment! By contrast, she dressed up as “Pumpkin Spice.”

Pumpkin Spice

The focus to detail paid off in another way as well: we arrived 30 minutes after the doors opened. As soon as we walked in, the show began. We still looked for available seats. Typical Black people. Arrive 30 minutes late, still want a good seat. My sister opted to sit on the floor within the ring of seated audience members. I remained standing. I didn’t get all costumed just to sit on the floor. She got the bird eye’s view to all the twerking on the floor. In the middle of the event, we scored two chairs.

Hey Boo!

All the performances were phenomenal. My very first level one teacher, who’d moved away, performed. The student performances blew me away, especially my friend who was on the lyra (hoop). Her performance even amazed the lyra teacher.

Ahsoka and Instructor

No adult Halloween party would be complete with libations. The back room had a delicious selection of Jello shots, punch, alcohol, desserts, and savory dishes. I practically inhaled the meatballs in barbecue sauce.

Ahsoka and Students

Once the show was over, I introduced my sister to everyone. As we mingled, there seemed to be some conspiracy about me performing in a Christmas-themed event. That remains to be determined.

Costume Party Time

I have no interest in performing except in a storytelling fashion. For much longer than a fleeting moment, I pondered how I could write a short spoken word piece, which I could dramatize. I’m not sure if it’ll be Christmas themed, but that’s a far more interesting performance idea for me.

After the Performances

Then again, instead of writing a brand new piece, I could always polish off one of my past works and revamp it as a performance piece. Who knows, life is full of possibilities.

Final Bow

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Shame Full: Indigo Moon Film Festival

One of the first things I researched when I relocated to Fayetteville from Austin was finding a local film school, filmmaking group or something, anything to continue my path as an emerging filmmaker. Apparently, a similar motivation inspired the founders of this fabulous film festival eight years ago.

They had plotted all the film festivals around NC on a map and saw a ring around the city with the nearest events still about an hour away. Unlike me, they did something about it besides reading filmmaking books and writing scripts.

Too Many Wonderful Choices

I’d left my filmmaking network in Austin. Even the nearest Women in Film chapter in NC seemed to no longer meet. So, I focused my creative energy on digital illustrating and podcasting, interviewing my extended family for episodes of “Strange Family Folklore” (SFF).

Then, I received a miraculous email update about the movie I’d interned on the year before, “Shame Full.” Our short film had been selected for this local film festival. I’d received other updates about the movie, but this one hit very close to home. I felt energized at the prospect of seeing the film on the big screen and talking with the co-directors/co-producers IRL.

Proof

Imagine my disappointment, followed by my sheer surprise that the co-directors/co-producers couldn’t make it themselves, but offered me the honor of representing the film instead. As I checked out the festival schedule, I discovered that on Saturday night, when our film would show, I had a previous, equally exciting event. Unbelievable. Nothing interesting hardly ever happens in Fayetteville. Thanks to the flexibility of the organizers, they accommodated my schedule and included our film in the noon block.

I took Friday off, so I could still swim a mile like I normally do on Fridays after work and run my Saturday morning errands. For me, that was clearing my schedule. Instead of swimming laps, I was on time for a water aerobics class that was about as strenuous as a mile-long swim, especially since the instructor noticed that I’d grabbed a small pool noodle instead of a large one. She upgraded my noodle. Granted, I was at least ten years younger than the rest of the other women and she knew I needed more of a challenge.

Proof w/ Balloons

Toward the end of the class, a woman shared that a film festival was beginning later that night. Before I could stop myself, I blurted out, “My film is in that festival!” Everyone’s electrified smile encouraged me to explain that “Shame Full” was about how a mother had internalized body shaming all her life, but realized she needed to make a change when she discovered her daughter internalizing the same trauma.

The Friday night opening film, “Black Barbie,” premiered at The Cameo theatre. Initially, I thought that extraordinary documentary had capitalized on the success of the “Barbie” movie; however, toward the end of the film, the audience learned that the filmmaker took 12 years to capture the story of Mattel’s first Black Barbie. Part of that fascinating journey was told by the filmmaker’s aunt, who’d worked for Mattel for decades. Even though the filmmaker was not available for Q & A, I was excited to hear that the film had been picked up by Netflix.

My Block

Saturday morning, I watched a feature film, “Witnessed,” in The Cameo theatre. One humorous detail that I detected throughout this otherwise male-driven thriller was that two out of three women who had a speaking part had put money in their bra as part of their hustle. Again, the filmmaker wasn’t available for Q & A, but I would have definitely asked them about that detail.

The Q & A Interview

Afterwards, I trekked up two very long, steep flights of stairs to The Loge theatre, where our film was shown. Had I originally thought that I’d miss exercising on Saturday due to attending a daylong festival, I would have been mistaken! The comfortableness of the plush seats in that small theatre was a godsend. The best reward was seeing “Shame Full” on a big screen for the first time, especially immersed with other moving shorts in that block.

Prior to my viewing block, I reminded myself to be gracious to the other filmmakers during the 15-minute Q & A since I tend to get “diarrhea of the mouth.” Turns out, I was the only filmmaker present for that block. No one even had to ask me a question to get the session going. I was so excited to be there. I explained that my Marvel hero sounding film credit, “Sound Shadow,” meant that I had been an intern with the sound department. I then explained my interest with that department was due to being a podcaster, but honestly, I was happy to get in where I fit in.

Post Interview Pose

I shared with the audience that the one of the filmmakers and I were on the inaugural board for the Austin Chapter of Women in Film and TV. Through that connection, I’d first read and provided feedback for the script and liked the story because it dealt with generational trauma. I was also impressed with how quickly the funding, cast and crew came together rather than the idea languishing for months. I told everyone that we filmed with COVID precautions in place. Besides that level of comfort, I felt that the set had been a safe place since 60% of the crew were women and a higher percentage were people of color.

The interviewer managed to get in a few questions of her own. When asked what had been my favorite scene, I said that every time I see the bathroom scene, I fondly recall how the cinematographer had stuffed himself under the bathroom sink to get the shot. When asked about something strange happening on set, I shared how I’d walked up and found a lost earring in the grass by using logic since everyone else had been looking in the wrong spot. I also shared how I’d brought my music stand for the tablet, so the directors could conveniently see what the cinematographer was seeing. The interviewer also surprised me with her comment that the pattern of my dress reminded her of film. Now, I will always associate that dress with film.

With the Festival Founders

I watched as many other short films as I could before jetting home to eat, then making a dramatic dress change. Fortunately, my sister is an art teacher, which was the only way I transformed into Ahsoka within 30 minutes. My dance studio had its Halloween-themed teacher-student presentation. That spectacular event, however, will be next week’s blog post.

Saturday Night Dance Event

On Sunday midmorning, I attended the awards BBQ lunch. Many of the award winners had already left town, which meant that there was plenty of leftover wine. With the help of one of the festival board members, we gathered an unopened bottle of Merlot with a twist-off cap and some plastic cups.

Award-Winning Filmmakers

I had no trouble finding other festival goers to share wine with. We spent a lovely afternoon sipping wine in The Loge theatre, watching the festival award-winning films.

Winners w/ Founders

I left the theatre inspired. Two cousins, both of whom I’d interviewed for SFF, had each given me a DVD with interviews about our extended family. Up until now, I had not viewed them because I had no way to view them, much less edit them. I ordered a piece of equipment to rip those DVDs. My goal is to enter the finished documentary into this film festival.

Group Picture

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Nature Pause

On sunny Sunday mornings, I trek to my former junior high school from home. As much as I hated that walk when I was younger, I now love it since I’m not obligated to do it.

Early Morning Duck Crossing

For this outing, a flock of ducks distracted me more than the schoolyard litter. They stopped me in my tracks. Not that they were the least bit aggressive. Quite the opposite.

Spreading Out

I sensed that they saw me since their pattern changed. Stopping at a respectable distance, I allowed the ducks to cross with minimum perturbation by my presence.

Promenade

Usually, I consider my Sunday strolls to be faster than leisurely, but definitely not a power walk. I’m not so much trying to elevate my heart rate as to keep it beating healthily. For once, I wasn’t rushing to be somewhere else. After all, the only real scheduled thing I had to do was make breakfast for Dad and me.

Field Buffet

For Dad, every day is essentially the same. He doesn’t experience the weekend joy of sleeping in. When he awakes, he wants his breakfast. Not that I mind. I’m a breakfast eater, myself.

Stragglers

The challenge is, balancing my weekend schedule while not disrupting his schedule too much. If anything goes astray, Mom has to pick up the slack. That’s something I definitely don’t want to do, especially since she’s already the primary caregiver. She doesn’t often have reliable attendants and no help on Sundays, which she’s trying to change.

When I was younger, I wanted to buy my parents a house. That’s not happened, yet I’d love to buy my own house, all on one level for them to move in with me. Ever the optimist, thinking that my art will cash out. Lord knows it won’t be the 9 to 5.

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Early Dinner

Colorful Cousin

My sister and I made a day trip out of town to rendezvous with one of our first cousins. Actually, Mom had sent us on a mission to get discounted toiletries although the former math teacher in me questioned whether the savings held up, considering we traveled nearly four hours roundtrip. The gas expenditure alone (because Mom DEFINITELY wouldn’t have paid us for our time!) may have possibly eaten into that savings.

Originally, Mom suggested that we meet at a gas station, followed by her second suggestion: in the parking lot of a popular dinner theater. After hearing all this, I thought, “What’s with all this ‘parking lot’ shit?”

It’s not as if we were making a drug deal or selling otherwise things acquired by ill-gotten means. My cousin had bought things on sale to resale to Mom at cost.

We hadn’t seen our cousin since the family reunion at the end of June. As enjoyable as that event was, we wanted a mini reunion while enjoying an early seafood dinner.

I was starving by the time we arrived since I’d skipped lunch just to ensure I’d have an appetite. I love supporting local mom and pop restaurants. Usually the local flavor and charming staff make such places. As soon as we walked in, we were hit with both. From the prominent sign displaying the mixed seafood and Greek specials to our server whose tip-enhancing generosity and sassy sense of humor entertained us throughout our visit.

When we told her that we wanted a piece of key lime pie to share, she asked, “How’s that going to be shared four ways?” Took my cousin, sister and me a few moments to realize that she was including herself in that count.

When my cousin said she didn’t like her side of lima beans and wanted to replace them with hushpuppies, the server not only brought my cousin a generous helping, but at the end of our meal, the server provided a to-go box full of them to gift my cousin.

At one point, I asked the server what her name was. Her response: “What, you lost yours?”

Nearly everything about the food was delicious with the notable exceptions of stuff crabs with too much bread and flounder that lacked seasoning. The hushpuppies alone could have been a meal, if you’re inclined to eat just one thing.

When checking out, we queued up at the register to pay for our dinner individually. The owner himself rang us up. With me, he gave me a miniature Hershey’s milk chocolate bar, saying that he was giving it to me because I was 19. He attempted to gift my cousin a Mr. Goodbar, but she protested, handing it to my sister, saying that she wanted a milk chocolate as well. Of course, my sister didn’t care what she got because chocolate is its own reward.

We hugged in the parking lot and headed back. That was the perfect way to spend a beautiful Saturday, running an errand for Mom.

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Museum Visit: Percy Martin

Proving both sayings that “the best-laid plans go awry” and “when life give you lemons, make lemonade,” my family and I went to a museum in Maryland on a Sunday to see our cousin Percy Martin’s exhibit only to discover that the building was closed. One of my sisters persuaded a maintenance man to unlock the art building’s side door, yet the gallery itself was also closed. Prominently displayed on the gallery window were the hours: Mon-Fri from 11 AM-4PM.

Unexpected Historical Facet

We saw other paintings and a set of cardboard pieces arranged in 3D shapes, which were obviously class projects. The exhibit that resonated with me was the brief history lesson about systemic racism in the surrounding area. After seeing on the news how Floridian institutions have been under attack for such content, it was refreshing to witness.

A Deeper Dive

We couldn’t find anyone else in the building to open the gallery. One of my sisters questioned two different people in the parking lot as we were about to leave. Both said they couldn’t open the gallery, so she texted Percy’s daughter to see if we could visit the artist himself. In the meantime, she called another cousin who had attended the artist talk the month before.

Lunch Break

While sitting in the car, talking to our cousin in attempt to come up with Plan B, my sister spotted a third person in the parking lot. She handed off her phone to our sister to approach that person. Next thing we knew, they started walking out of the parking lot in the opposite direction of the museum. By the time I realized that none of us had any means to communicate with her, she and the dude she’d approached were out of sight. All I could think of was, “What a perfect ‘Taken’ situation and none of us have a special set of skills.” I just prayed that that unsuspecting dude was a nice guy with no general woman-abduction scenarios in his back pocket.

Before We Go

After an uncomfortable amount of time, she returned, telling us that the guy had escorted her to the student union in hopes that someone there would have keys to the museum or the student union gallery. They’d struck out on both pursuits. I told her next time to use someone else’s phone to call her phone and check in with us. She hadn’t thought of that, but at least she was fine.

Humble Beginnings of an Artist

Our Plan B: go over to another cousin’s house who lived near Percy. We’d finally heard back from Percy’s daughter who invited us to come over for a visit after two. That was a few hours away, so we had an enjoyable time at our cousin’s house, including eating pizza since we were out later than anticipated. Originally, we wanted to hit the road back to NC by then, but we figured talking to the artist himself would make the whole trip worth while.

Prolific Artist

We truly got more than we bargained for. My cousin and her husband drove separately to Percy’s house since they showed us how to get there and would drive back home. Instead they stayed the entire time, which turned out to be over an hour, thanks to me.

Passing on the Knowlege

As soon as we arrived at Percy’s house, I introduced myself to him and asked if I could interview him for my podcast. He was ready to go. As a matter of fact, he invited me into his studio where we had a quieter environment to conduct the recording. He started, unprompted, telling me his story.

Here was an artist who had been interviewed so many times, he already knew several places to begin, leaving me to catch up. When he took a breath, I informed him that I was recording, which I don’t know if he cared or not, but it still seemed like the ethical thing to do.

From there, I was amazed at the life he led during his childhood when he discovered at age 8 that he wanted to be an artist and the famous people who he crossed paths with by virtue of living in D.C. As enthralled as I was by his back to back stories that flowed from one to the next, I was mindful of the time.

My original plan was to keep the interview at a tight 30 minutes, but he was still going strong with his storytelling. Once we blew through the 30-minute mark, I watched him to see if I detected a look of fatigue cross his face as did when I’d interviewed one of my uncles who was in his 90s. No such look appeared since I believe he’d had a nap prior to our visit. Not only that, but he admitted once the interview concluded that no one had been by to see him in a while. Such a heartbreaking admission to hear from a vibrant storyteller.

Another cousin, who had attended his artist talk a month earlier, shared her photographic documentation of the event:

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Trap N Poetry

Once again, I convinced my sister to attend a cultural event with me. This was produced by the same two Black women who’d brought that fabulous Juneteenth extravaganza to life a few months ago.

The Emcee & Me

From the description, the event sounded similar to a poetry slam, but set to trap music. Unlike a slam competition, poets weren’t given a time limit, a factor I missed. The total points awarded that night ranged from the mid 70s to over 100. I had no idea what a perfect score would have been nor how many judges were present.

General seating consisted of a row of four seats on either side of the aisle, so my sister and I took up half of a row. Two other Black women, who had each come to the event by themselves, joined us near the start of the program. By the end of the night, one couldn’t tell that we hadn’t all planned to meet one another there.

One of the best aspects of the event was the audience participation. We were vocally supportive for the brave poets. Three out of eight poets flamed out, forgetting their words and needing either to restart a few times or outright read the words from their phone.

Between the contestants’ performance was special guest poets. The audience reacted more raucously to them. Not only were they seasoned performers, but they took their craft to surprising levels that either shocked the hell of us or made us laugh out loud. My favorite line of the night occurred when one of the featured poets stated that his bed was made out of “I wish a nigga wood (would).”

The evening’s theme was “Toxic AF,” so every poem involved relationships that took the poet to hell and back. Most ended their performance with them vanquishing their ex toxic partner.

By the end of the evening, I was happy that none of my relationships had taken me to such depths of anguish. That’s the silver lining to being so focused on myself and my own goals.

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53rd Daylong Birthday Celebration

Proving once again that I can have a meaningful celebration even if it’s midweek and for a day, I started off my birthday with a light breakfast at home, followed by a mango smoothie at one of the coolest coffee shops in town. As a matter of fact, one of my prolific poetry-writing friends had sent me two of his latest self-published books of poetry for my birthday. Since he freely passes out these gifts of poetry, I knew he’d love to have them regifted in a space that he’d feel at home with his writing buddies if he were here instead of in Austin.

Poetry’s New Home

Places such as this coffee shop, together with its take a book/leave a book area are numerous in Austin, but scarce around here. I tried to find such a place when I initially moved here, but had to ask for a recommendation when I kept striking out at several different places.

Between Scripture

Most of the selection looked like “airport books,” but then I saw two copies of the same Holy Bible. Not sure if people had lost their religion, but I placed the two good books together and inserted my friend’s poetry books in between. Hopefully, future readers will be interested in some good words along with their religion.

From My Booklist

Speaking of religion, I found a jewel of a book among all the “airport” books about a Pakistani young woman who was attacked by religious fanatics. I’d placed this book on my ever-growing booklist when it first came out. As I sipped my smoothie and started to read, I suddenly stopped. I saved reading it for when I returned home. I was excited to read it aloud to my father, who was currently confined to bed. (Turns out, he wasn’t interested in the story after four times of me reading some chapters to him.)

New Sports Bras

Next up, shopping. Normally, I only buy gas, groceries and occasionally food when I go out to eat. However I made a birthday shopping list of things that needed replacing, starting with sports bras. I exercise at least five days a week, so I usually wear a sports bra versus a regular one. The most challenging thing about the whole experience was trying to take a selfie that included both my tiara and the bra. I know, first world problems!

New Shoes

Across the parking lot, I shopped at a shoe store, not knowing whether I could actually get a stylish flat shoe. In the past, all the comfortable shoes were either sneakers or outright ugly. Once again, I found a jewel.

New Socks

I felt like a sucker to marketing when I looked over from the checkout line, and spotted a bunch of anklet socks. Truth of the matter is that I needed to replace the socks that I used for dance class. At least I wasn’t just buying frivolous stuff because I needed them to support a fun way of exercising.

Blueberry Toes

Now that I’d bought my new shoes, I got my nails done. Of course, my freshly painted blueberry toes couldn’t be seen while wearing my new shoes, but that wasn’t the point. I knew from the onset that I would intertwine pampering with shopping.

Don’t Mind If I Do

I ended part one of my birthday celebration at a sushi restaurant that I’d never visited before. The spicy edamame was inspired, which I coupled with my favorite sushi combo of avocado and unagi with the newest palate pleaser: a crunchy crab mixture. Along with miso soup and jasmine tea, lunch was divine.

Festive Scene

Part two of my birthday celebration unfolded hours later. When I’d seen that the local regional theatre had an opening night social gathering, complete with champagne and snacks, I immediately bought two tickets.

Snack Spread

The bartender complimented my tiara. When I told her that I was celebrating my birthday, she offered me a full cup of champagne, which I graciously accepted. Fortunately, the bubbles didn’t get on my nerves and it was tasty. Everything absolutely worked out for the preshow event, especially since the finger food spread coupled well with champagne.

Here’s to 53!

My sister was a good sport, accompanying me to the event because she usually uses the weekday evenings to catch up on her sleep. At least the show, which I’d never heard of was very entertaining. Apparently, it was a Broadway or off Broadway show…not a fact that I cared about because the champagne pre-event was the draw for me with the show being a cherry on the top.

Earlier in the day, I received a BD gift from a friend. The boxes were just as beautiful as the jewelry itself. I struggled with bracelet clasp so much that I wore it for the rest of the day, so I was lucky that it matched my colorful dress. I’ll wear the earrings for another occasion.

Surprise BD Gifts

As much as love to make my own greeting cards, I appreciated the cards I received from my family…and not just for the gift of money contained in them! The cards reflected everyone’s personality from the religious inspired message of my parents’ card…

Mom & Dad’s Card

…to the humorous message of one of my sister’s cards…

One Sister’s Card

…to sentimental and stylish card from my other sister. As a matter of fact, when I saw this last card, I knew that I’d pluck those flowers off the card to be reused on another card that I decorate for someone else.

The Other Sister’s Card

My sister and her family came for the weekend to celebrate both Mom’s and my birthday. Since Dad was confined to bed, we ordered takeout, popped a bottle of non-alcoholic sparkling cider for the teetotalers and a bottle of spicy red, essentially for my niece, one of my sisters, a sip for one nephew and me.

Partial Group Pic

My sister and her children took shifts with Mom, so Dad had company while he ate. That was our compromise in lieu of us going to a restaurant and having someone sit with him. We’re hoping that next year this time, that Dad will be able to at least join us at the table either at home or at a restaurant.

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Dad’s Home

Dad shattered his hip a few days after his 85th birthday in April and he returned a few days before Mom’s 83rd and my 53rd birthday in September. The time in between birthdays had been a long road to recovery.

Welcome Home Hugs

My childhood bedroom had been converted into Dad’s convalescence room, complete with a hospital bed and all the accessories needed to take care of him. I never realized how warm that room was when I was a child. At least Dad doesn’t have to worry about freezing.

As much as Dad had wanted to come home, the ideal homecoming would have been Dad walking through the front door. The silver lining is Dad has to use his own strength to get in and out of bed instead of relying on professionals to maneuver him.

As Mom and I soon discovered, there are at least two wrong ways to put compression socks on a person: her way and mine. Mom’s way was to put them on as if they were a regular socks, then fight with pulling up those tight bastards every centimeter at a time. My way was gathering the full length of the sock until only the toe part was loose and putting it on like it was pantyhose. My way started off better since I could secure most of the foot before I ran into the same challenge Mom did.

After that initial experience, I looked up videos and discovered the best way to accomplish the task was inserting one’s arm through the sock, placing a thumb in the heel and the four fingers in the toe area like working a sock puppet. Next, I clasped thumb and fingers together and with the other hand, pull back the sock, turning it inside out up to the foot area. Then, I remove my hand, being mindful of keeping the heel part of the sock facing down. After placing Dad’s toes into toe area of the sock, I then pulled the sock up to cover the remaining of his foot, making sure to place his heel into the heel area. Afterwards, it’s just a matter of working the sock up his leg while smoothing out any wrinkles. Far easier in the matter of a minute or so without breaking into a sweat.

Another bonus is that Dad exercises his voice, which has become much softer over the years. Now that he’s confined to that room, whether he’s in the bed or in his wheelchair, he has to speak louder to be heard. Complicating communication is Mom’s partial hearing loss in one ear. So, if she’s in her bathroom while listening to the radio or downstairs in the kitchen with the TV on, Dad has to yell loud enough for her to hear him. Half the time, if I’m not in my own room working, I usually run up three sets of stairs to see what he wants.

I knew that he’d quickly tire of being in the room by himself. That’s why I went out and bought him a small flatscreen TV and attached a firestick to it. It’s the type of entertainment that he was used to in rehab. Yet, Dad had grown accustomed to having Mom camped out in his rehab room. A luxury that isn’t going to be duplicated here at home for the same long ours as he was used to.

First of all, someone dropped the ball about having caregivers. Mom had started that process with the VA back in July. However, when Dad returned home, the caregivers weren’t in place. She’s had to be the sole caregiver attending to the vast majority of his needs for the first two weeks.

Secondly, Mom’s only two years younger than Dad. Although she’s doing well to get around as much as she does, including driving and doing all the activities of daily living for herself. Yet, she cannot keep going at this pace.

Lastly, my other sister who lives in town and I both have full time jobs. We can help a little here and there, but nothing as much as help as Dad doing things for himself. I’m not sure how much of his regression has to do with his emotions or actual physical strength. Either way, I try to be as positive as possible whenever he makes an effort.

In the meantime, I’ve introduced a new hobby for Dad and me. I picked up a book to read to Dad. I’m not sure how much he’s following along since he usually falls asleep, but at least it’s quality time while we have the time.

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Mom’s Hibachi Grill Kittens

All I wanted to do was take a picture of my sister’s car, which had been taking up prime real estate in the driveway. She’d had the For Sale sign on it for months, taken it down for a potential buyer, but then replaced it when that buyer fell through.

The Stars of the Show

Now that she had a new job, I wanted her to advertise to her colleagues that a reliable, inexpensive preowned car was for sale. After all, most preowned cars have dramatically risen in price, not necessarily in value, since the pandemic. Supply chain issues not only halted the production of new cars, but delayed the production of car parts for repairs.

Big Mama

As I reached the front door to enter the house after taking a picture of the car, I heard the unmistakable mewling of kittens, coming from the direction of the patio. No feral kittens in sight. Following the sound to the hibachi grill, I carefully lifted the heavy black tarp. An adult cat bolted, leaving five kittens.

After taking their picture, I gently replaced the tarp, made eye contact with the mother cat and entered the house. Looking out from the glass patio door, I watched the cat carry her kittens one by one to secret them somewhere in the neighbor’s yard.

The next day, I thought about those kitties when the bottom fell out, flooding in some places. They would have been sopping wet had they stayed under the hibachi grill tarp. I could only hope that they were in a warm, dry place during the storm.

Whoever survives will be the next generation of hardy feral cats. Even though we don’t feed them, those cats are probably the reason I’ve hardly seen a squirrel or other critters around here. In other words, those kittens will have plenty to eat if they make it out of infancy.

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