Category: Writing

In my haste to complete a mundane household chore, recycling an empty tissue box, I inadvertently read something that Dad had written on top of the box: falsify, 34, hush money, all counts, July 11, sentence, Trump.

My 86-year old father, who experiences the effects of early dementia and uses a wheelchair, took a few notes while listening to the news, which blared from the TV in the kitchen as he sat in the dining room.

Sixteen years ago, Dad’s only 70th birthday wish was to live long enough to see a Black President of the United States. Currently, Dad has lived to witness not only that, but also an infamous first in the history of the United States: a convicted felon POTUS. How far we’ve come.

The founding fathers, nor anyone else, could not have predicted that a former POTUS would be convicted of a felony, much less 34 felonies, and would still be the most popular candidate for a major political party.

I still think now, as I thought back in 2015, that most of his supporters project their desires onto Felony POTUS, regardless of whatever he actually says or does. I’ve always marveled at how he said illogical, contradictory things and his supporters didn’t care. They still don’t.

I’ve often heard that things get worse before they get better. Like my father, I hope I live long enough to witness the pendulum swing back the other way. I’d hate to see what comes next if desperate people destroy democracy. Nothing in the past, as far as “Western” civilizations are concerned, have been ideal.

I don’t suspect that the end of democracy would be to usher in a non Western, indigenous form of civilization although I suspect THAT would have society living more in line with nature. Best part: the billionaires could still jettison themselves into space.

One of the joys of my weekends is working on all my creative projects. Being mostly unscheduled is absolutely delicious, especially when time passes without me realizing it.

Before I hopped onto the creativity carousel on Saturday, I completed my morning chores, including going to CVS to pick up an OTC medication for Mom. This OTC Herculean journey usually requires visiting more than one location.

When I finally found it, there was only one box on the shelf. Since it was buy one, get the second half off, I went to the checkout counter to see if more was in stock. Instead, the guy gave me 25% off that one bottle on top of my employee discount, which miraculously brought the price down to what I’d paid for it before.

The sneaky pants thing was Mom was still a victim of shrinkflation since there were 20 fewer pills than in the previous bottle. So, that sweet discount just counteracted the reduction in supply.

Later that morning, for the first time ever, I used the record function on powerpoint. Although I could only trim the clip ends without making any advanced edits, I became acceptably good at recording the voiceover for most slides without even using the trim clip function. Added bonus: the slides automatically advanced after the voiceover finished.

Then, I took the deepest time plunge into the world of flag design. My mother’s side of the family, those of us who are the descendants of Grand Elder Jesse Strange, have been participating in a family reunion for 83 consecutive years. Currently, family members have agreed that we should honor this accomplishment with a flag. All flag designs must include the following: the Strange Family logo, the names of Jesse Strange’s 12 children and the 12 colors associated with those 12 branches of the Strange descendants.

Well, at least we don’t have to depict some type of “tree,” but still. Those three criteria seemed like two too many. Yet, as time passed, my mind churned with ideas until, after a week, when I finally created my flag, a beautiful, “clean” design unfolded.

The beauty of a flag is that many elements of symbolism come together. I’d struck upon a way to combine seemingly clashing/distracting colors and the potential wordiness of 12 full names and that SFA logo in an aesthetically pleasing manner. All flag submissions will be revealed during our 83rd Strange Family Reunion in June, so family members who have paid their dues can vote.

Sunday mornings, I type up part of one of several journals from nearly 30 years ago in an effort to digitalize them all, so I can stop lugging them around. Eventually, I’ll scan the pictures and marry them to the journal entries. I’ll keep the actual photo albums, but I still like the idea of scanning them to have digital versions.

However, this Sunday, I ran a little behind and left late for my mid-morning hot yoga class. As much as I enjoy practicing in the front row, I managed my expectations to be satisfied regardless of where in the room I’d practice. Much to my surprise, every traffic light turned green en route to the yoga studio. I even found a convenient parking space and had my choice of two front-row spots.

As I worked through the challenging yoga flow, the idea arrived that I should extend my feel-good weekend by getting a mani pedi before Sunday dinner, which my sister would prepare after she arrived from church.

As usual, I walked-in without an appointment, listened to an audio book, checked email and texted as I waited. For the first time ever, I asked for a glass of red wine while I sat in the vibrating massage chair, getting my pedicure.

I had rather low expectations of the wine quality and was not too impressed when it came to me chilled, but it was drinkable. I sent a picture of the long-stemmed wine glass to friends and family.

When one friend indicated that she was nursing a serious cold, I got the impetus to call her. I don’t remember the last time I actually talked to her, which meant that a call was long overdue. I usually sent the occasional text and rare email, but a call was a luxury I rarely afforded anyone except my sister who thinks of herself as my second mother. All I can say is that if laughter is the best medicine, then I helped heal her.

That magical weekend was how I envision retirement. Plenty of unscheduled time to juggle creative projects and check in with people who I care about. That weekend was a preview of things to come. Just have to get there.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.”

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.”

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.”

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.”

Another moment I knew that everyone was waiting for…pictures with the dancers.

I started off the picture parade with the dancers, all of whom were my instructors.

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.

We also had a few traditional Christmas pictures since there was a decorated tree, albeit topped with Hedwig from the Harry Potter series.

I directed my parents to take their traditional picture in front of the tree since we didn’t have one set up at home.

The very next group picture featured Dad. The most effort had been made to accommodate him.

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.

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.

My brother-in-law, for all his initial spontaneous pole enthusiasm, took a straight pose with shades–as if he’d be disguised.

My nieces and nephew took a group picture together, warming up to the idea of posing solo with the dancers.

However, their mother was raring to go. She took a pose suggestion and then latched on.

Not to be outdone…

Now, the niece, who had modeling experience, finally warmed up to striking a pose.

I let it slip that my nephew did parkour, so the dancers stood back to check out his skills.

The pole was more of a challenge. The dancers helped a brother out.

Since her younger sister and brother had struck a pose, my other niece took her turn.

Last, but certainly not least, Mom wrapped her leg around the pole.

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.

Now this was the only pose I should have attempted in the first place:

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.

When I received the invitation from a friend to enter a writing contest about “On Being Different,” especially when it came to some aspect of the medical field and/or studying, I immediately thought about my brief stint of selling health insurance over the phone. Since nothing happens in a vacuum, I began my piece on my first day of kindergarten. That was the day I learned that I was Black.

The consequences of that racial designation has influenced my experiences, which I summarized in my essay, published by On Pulse:

Chameleon

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.

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.

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.

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!