Category: Writing

For years, I tortured myself, thinking of unique gifts for my immediate family. Gift-shopping was so much easier during the years I lived outside the States. The real challenge arose when I returned in 2009. The period between then and 2020 were hit or miss.

After eight years of being an expat, I resettled in Austin, TX. For the first few Christmases, I got away with the uniquely Austin things: Keep Austin Weird and Longhorn T-shirts, things made by local artists and businesses.

Even before I suddenly quit teaching, the whole gift-buying thing had become stale. The worst holidays were when I was too broke to participate in the commercialization of Christmas, but still wanted to celebrate with my family. The expectations of the gift-exchange was very stressful. The experience usually involved either a joyless financial obligation and/or the gift recipient was graceless in their discovery that my gift hadn’t met their expectations.

The year I was $30/week for groceries poor, one of my family members voiced how they hoped what I’d gifted them wasn’t a cookbook while unwrapping a cookbook. Well, not only had that cookbook represented half of my weekly grocery budget, but it contained two recipes that we were both known for. I’m not sure if the person ever used it, but I felt absolutely stupid for sacrificing half my weekly food money instead of making a gift like I’d done for every other family member.

Two COVID silver linings were not traveling home for Christmas and the rise of Zoom. That was an inexpensive holiday where I sent two care packages of edible goodies: one vegan gift for my sister and her family to share and another one shared by my parents, other sister and nephew.

I absolutely loved that. Not just the comparatively cheaper online shopping, but the mere appreciation that none of us died from a virus and had lived to see one another again, albeit virtually.

Although I’d managed to secure a full-time job with good benefits in June 2021, as par for the course, my salary was nowhere near being enough to continue living in Austin. So, I moved back home with my parents at the end of July 2022.

As stressful as relocating was, I had to adjust to a new family dynamic on top of always being home for the holidays. There was no way I was going to jump back on the capitalistic, commercialization of Christmas once again.

I researched “non-materialistic” Christmas gifts. One thing that resonated with me was planning a family event. I’m not sure how I came across indoor skydiving, but as soon as the idea crossed my mind, I booked a flight for the whole family except my octogenarian parents who still had an enjoyable time watching the rest of us.

The following Christmas, Dad could no longer walk unassisted. For that family Christmas event, I recruited five of my dance teachers to perform in a Christmas show that I wrote, produced, directed and hosted. It was one of the few times Dad had been outside the house without it being a doctor’s appointment since his injury.

By the next Christmas, Dad still couldn’t walk. I produced another Christmas show where an actress/dancer came to our house to perform a one-woman show I’d written. She performed in the living room where I ran sound from my laptop.

I barely pulled off that last show. Took far more effort than the previous year to thread the needle, given that half the family lived out of town and only stayed for a hot second. Then I worried about the performer arriving on time, my family arriving on time and me getting Christmas Eve off, which Christmas miracle, I did.

This year, the day after Thanksgiving, traditional Black Friday, we joined millions of other families in the States and had a Brown Friday. On Brown Friday, you have to call a plumber. At the time of this writing, that seemingly simple plumbing problem blossomed into the house needing asbestos mitigation AND new pipes outside of the house.

And it was STILL the Christmas season. I paid for half of the original plumbing bill since I felt that my occasional use of “flushable” wipes had contributed to the issue. However, the house, which was built in 1971, still had the original pipes and needed an upgrade.

I was still motivated to observe a non-materialistic Christmas, but Grinch style. This year, everyone’s getting cussed out for Christmas.

And why not? It’s free. One size fits all. Even if it doesn’t, it’s easily customizable. Personalized to let past Christmas slights ooze out as the eggnog flows.

With so many boxes checked, I’m surprised I’ve not done it before. Especially when family members had so ungraciously complained about a gift I’d given them right in front of me. Worst, one family member aggressively approached me about a gift I gave another family member because that was what a third family member “should have” received as well.

Fuck all that. And I get to keep my money too. Scrooge would be proud.

Even though Halloween is my favorite holiday and I dressed up at least four different times this year, somehow, Thanksgiving snuck up on me. I bought all the ingredients to make, what I thought would be an annual tradition, Naturally-Dyed Red Velvet Cupcakes.

The cupcakes turned out delicious, but there was absolutely no joy in making them, unlike in the previous two years. After making breakfast, I immediately started making the cupcakes and once everything was completed, including the on-going burden of washing up dishes from breakfast, cupcakes and the two side dishes Mom had made, I had just enough time to shower, get dressed and hop in the car to attend our Thanksgiving celebration.

That was the worst start of a vacation day. Still happy not to be at work, I put that domestic manual labor on myself. Also, I didn’t have Black Friday off either to make up for it.

I’d juggled creative projects and studying for my pharmacy tech license, then I put that baking effort on top. By the time Mom and I started the production of getting Dad into the wheelchair-accesssible van, my mind was racing.

I wrestled whether to bring my iPad. I wanted to either study or work on my digital art. I made the correct decision and didn’t bring it. I broke away from my usual tight-scheduled routine for three and a half hours.

The biggest joy for me was that my parents made the celebration. Once we rolled up, Dad couldn’t enter the house with his motorized cadillac wheelchair. In true thanksgiving, several men assisted walking Dad into the house.

After several stone-skipping conversations with my nieces, nephew and their relatives on their father’s side, we ate an elaborate buffet for the different diets: omnivore, pescatarian, and vegan.

Mom, Dad and I left in time to meet the evening caregiver. That was right on time as far as I’m concerned. Those delicious collard greens had worked their magic. So much so that the next day, when I weighed myself for before swimming, I was nearly a half pound lighter than the week before.

I went to bed at midnight on Thanksgiving Day. At least I’d finished up my daily “routine,” which consisted of studying and working on the only creative project that had a firm deadline.

In contrast, on Black Friday, while seemingly everyone else shopped, I had a markedly unroutine day at work. I razzle-dazzled all day long to arrange for my patients to pick up their medications locally. Something about the holidays that brings out the “I needed it yesterday” urgency among patients.

My greatest afterwork reward was having the indoor pool all to myself. The type of luxury my actual day off should have been.

When I returned home, my sister had finished stir frying a spicy vegetable dish to accompany her famous egg rolls, followed by Mom’s famous cheesecake. Like having a distinctly different Thanksgiving sans turkey.

Next year, I’ll be more mindful to wind down the number of creative projects and I’m going to make a less time-consuming recipe. Regardless of whether I have Black Friday off, I’m planning to have a restful Thanksgiving.

For once, I attended a different exercise class on Sunday mid morning. The cherry on top was that I’d invited a friend who drove us far enough out of town that it could be considered a daytrip.

We set up our yoga mats under a pavilion in the front row, thanks to my aversion to having other people’s feet in my face. Although we were too close to the portable speaker, I easily remedied that by wearing my ever-handy earplugs.

I’d never taken a barre class before, but I was amazed at how the smallest movements created a huge effect. My friend kept saying that she would be very sore the next day. I teased her about approaching the drop-in class as if it were a military exercise. I, on the other hand, took everything in stride. Plus, I use CBD, so I knew that would help alleviate any soreness, especially due to inflammation.

One thing that I found challenging was seeing the food truck in front of us nearly the entire time. As the class progressed, the smell of burgers and fries permeated. I’d eaten breakfast, but that seemed long gone in the middle of that late-morning class.

Since our payment for the barre class included a drink ticket, we put away our yoga mats after class, then claimed our spicy apple ciders. As hungry as I was, I know that wasn’t the only reason that cider was delicious.

With drinks in hand, we waited in line for food. My friend wasn’t hungry, but she kept me company. While standing in line, I did my usual: talk a mile a minute. Even so, I made an effort to mind my own business instead of focusing on the middle aged couple behind us who kept loudly kissing. I figured they weren’t a long-time couple.

After I’d received my order and we’d sat down, I shared my observation about the amorous couple. My friend had overheard them asking one another those basic “first date questions” and had wanted to tell them to get a room. I laughed because I had been tempted to tell him that he’d have to kiss everyone. Or least tell her to hook a sister up. Of course, I didn’t find the guy attractive, so no need to joke about that with her.

After I finished eating, I went to the bathroom to wash my hands when I noticed the “Date Gone Wrong” sign. I loved everything about it. A part of me felt sad that women needed such a plan B, but I was very happy that there were strategies to help a sister out. A woman’s safety shouldn’t be compromised just because she’s looking for romance. Ideally, she’d be as happy and secure as the woman behind me in the food line.

Since the Farmers’ Market was in progress, my friend and I walked around to see what was available. I figured I wouldn’t buy anything, but I’m always in the mood for a post-meal stroll. That’s precisely why I came across something that I ended up buying.

Months ago, I’d bought reusable woolen dryer balls. The box contained a teaser bottle of essential oil to spray on the balls. When I returned to the place to buy a larger bottle, there was none to be found. I’d been searching for a suitable replacement ever since. The challenge was greater than I would have originally figured.

So, when I came across some bottles advertising “linen spray,” I thought that was close enough. I asked the vendor if the spray was for dryer balls and she confessed that she hadn’t thought to use it in that way. I liked the sound of “Berry Apple Bourbon” before I confirmed by smelling it. She asked me to try the “Jamaica Please” scent, which was her favorite. I couldn’t decided between the two, so I bought both.

After all, whether the linen spray worked as dryer ball scents or not, I’d be helping out a Black woman-owned business. Definitely worth the effort in more ways than one.

As soon as I walked into the restaurant where my nephew, a hamburger enthusiast, chose, I knew I’d drink tequila, and no matter the entree, I’d be generous with a red hot sauce. The dirty floor tipped me off.

I learned from living and travelling in many developing countries that one surefire way to kill the pathogens in dodgy food is to consume strong alcohol. My favorite is tequila. Definitely something magical in that agave-derived drink. As soon as one sips that intoxicating elixir, the digestive track starts to settle down.

During a safety meeting I’d attended, the speaker recommended generously covering one’s food in red hot sauce if it looked questionable. Turns out that capsaicin, which is found in red chilies, helps kill most food-borne bacteria. Although garlic, onions and black pepper have similar properties, it’s far easier to carry and apply hot sauce than fresh garlic, onions and black pepper.

As if the lack of cleanliness wasn’t enough, the restaurant also had overpriced, watered-down margaritas. Fortunately, I had tequila at home to ensure no digestive wars.

My nephew informed me after the fact that he had a gift card for the restaurant, which was given as a Christmas present. As luck would have it, he didn’t have the card with him, so he’ll have to return to use it.

His mother will take him.

Saturday mornings are dedicated to cleaning, doing laundry, and running errands. Preferably all before lunch. Afterwards, that is when the real weekend begins.

This particular Saturday, I made a liquor run before returning home. After buying alcohol, I saw this:

I’ve stopped watching horror movies for the most part although “thrillers” seem just as bad, but I definitely recognized Chucky and his bride. Not sure if they were just for decoration or a clever security ploy, but the windows were rolled down and no one was in the car. I didn’t go closer to investigate since that would have been suspicious even if the horror dolls weren’t there.

The following Saturday, Mom had me go on a wild goose chase. She takes a vision supplement that is usually out of stock. I’d been to more than one pharmacy and hadn’t found the exact formulation she used. She didn’t want the same name brand with a different formula. I told her that it would be easier to find unicorn milk.

A few days later, ask if speaking it into existence, this woman parked behind me:

When I joked about her not having unicorns, she told me that she hadn’t added them yet. I didn’t think that ductaping things onto one’s car was legal, but it’s certainly entertaining.

On Da Edge Cowgirl definitely seemed like my kind of person or certainly a character worthy of loosely basing a fictional character on. I scarcely remember anything she said about herself since most of our conversation was about the event. Yet, perhaps the fewer facts the better for fictional purposes.

So often, people use cars as status symbols. Happy to see some people make other statements. Even if I’m not sure what it said.