For this year’s Mother’s Day celebration, we treated Mom to a gospel musical where all the women and a lone man wore a hat AKA a “crown.”
As soon as we entered the theatre, I recognized my 5th grade teacher.
Not only was she one of my favorite teachers, but she was also one of Mom’s favorite teachers.
Over the years, Mom bragged about how wonderful my 5th grade teacher was such that a talkative, creative student like me always had something do after quickly finishing up the regular classwork.
My former teacher had no time to reminisce. She whisked us to our seats ASAP.
Even though the musical was the perfect non-materialistic gift, the theatre had offered its first Saturday matinee the week following Mother’s Day.
All that good singing and funny moments during the interwoven storylines put all of us in such a good mood. Even the weather cooperated.
Afterwards, we treated Mom to our favorite Italian restaurant downtown. Apparently, we enjoyed ourselves so much that neither my sister nor I bothered to snap a picture.
I wish we could have more entertaining moments like this. I know that some days, Mom feels overwhelmed with primary caregiver duties, even with a 48-hour/week team of attendants for Dad. Many a time, Mom has lamented that she thought her life would be different if she were blessed enough to live this long.
That’s what makes occasions such as these so special. We get to step outside the stressful chaos of our everyday lives. I hardly ever pass up the opportunity to gift an experience like this.
As a child, I loved going to scary movies with my two older sisters. At some point in early adulthood, real life became scary enough.
Although I’ve never seen any of the Saw movies, I’ve seen trailers and a “Scary Movie” spoof of those movies. So, I know that they are based on gruesome games.
Logically, such things don’t happen in real life. Yet, the world’s so crazy that, sight on seen, I knew I didn’t want to play any game these folks were hosting.
While I’m at it, I’m crossing off the list Hunger Games, Squid Game and any other competition where death and mutilation are baked into the cake.
As a matter of fact, I discovered years ago that I don’t do well with any game/sport that involves a ball; this is an extension of that.
About the only thing I was willing to do was take pictures and pose with one of my sisters. Nobody got hurt.
Rarely do I attend an event after work besides dance or yoga class or going swimming. Every now and again, something tempts me away from that exercise regimen.
Speaking of “men,” some friends and I got together for what was advertised as the “Australian Take Over.” Perhaps the ripped guy in the poster was an Aussie, but certainly not any of the actual dudes in the show. But what do you expect for less than $20?
After eating at a nearby restaurant, we walked over nearly 30 minutes after the show was supposed to begin.
One of my friends somehow knew that the show hadn’t begun yet and joined us about 15 minutes later.
The show opened with that classic male dancer song, “It’s Raining Men.” One friend remarked how young most of the dancers looked. I told her that was because we were older women. Actually, the guy in charge was older. They could’ve totally rebranded themselves as “Big Dog and the Pack of Pups.”
The oldest dancer played a triple role as the DJ and hype man, who probably wore even more hats as manager/father/asskicker. As a matter of fact, the title of this blog post honored his most common refrain throughout the event.
I’d prepped ahead to make it rain. Normally, I use online banking. However, the Saturday before the event, I happily skipped into the bank stating that I needed $40 in ones. Even a small rain shower grows flowers, right?
Well, I went with $40 and returned home with $34. Apparently, I just made it sprinkle. One of those experiences where a drop or two hits you, making you wonder if it was raining.
When I shared that conclusion with Mom, who’s notoriously cheaper than I am, she admitted that the last time she’d attended such an event, she just sat back and watched, never tipping once.
In February, I filed my taxes and was beside myself because the great state of NC refunded me a dollar. Even with the attitude of “at least I didn’t owe the state money,” I felt insulted not to receive a bigger return. I even started a quest to find at least a dollar in change as an ongoing 2026 quest. To date, I’ve only found two cents, which I think is a reflection of how hard times are, with everyone looking down for fallen loose change.
Nonetheless, with the first dollar I tucked into a male dancer’s waistband, I thanked the great state of NC for providing me the means to “tip that motherfucker.” After all, that dollar represented 1/6 of my money that found its way to a stripper.
The most lucrative way the dancers made money was to sell “hot seats.” For $40 dollars a pop, women sat in a chair on stage, along with their dancer of choice who interacted suggestively with them. When he finished with one, the stripper escorted her off stage so any other woman who’d paid could replace her on stage.
Additionally, before the hot seat dance began, the DJ/manager encouraged the audience to set our girlfriends up by tucking money in various parts of their clothing. The more money she was decorated with, the more the dancer interacted with her.
One woman, who had obviously been in a recent accident, rolled up, using a walker, with her left arm in a sling. She’d sprung for two hot seat dances. Both dancers impressively accommodated her condition. They were duly rewarded because she’d reach into that arm sling, and pull out money to shower them with.
Now, one group of women had at least $1,000 worth of money. They bought hot seats, made it rain money all night long and set their girlfriends up for a good time.
At the end of the night, the dancer who’d brought his drink on stage in the beginning when they were being introduced, danced his hot seat set. During the middle of his dance, someone had bought him a shot, which he paused dancing to shoot.
The last woman he had on stage was part of the rich making-it-rain-all-night group of women. He placed her on the floor, whisked off her crocs, sprayed whipped cream on her toes and put one foot after the other into his mouth to eat the cream off her feet.
B L E C H!
Even the DJ/manager remarked, “Johnny, you’re a better man than me!”
Some things are too nasty to be sexy. I mean, when Ludracris sings, “I wanna, li-li-li-lick you from your head to your toes,” THAT sounds sexy. There’s a good reason he doesn’t sing, “I wanna, li-li-li-lick your musty croc toes.” Although some would be into that.
Perhaps Johnny had drunk tequila at some point in the night. That’s the only alcohol I credit with medicinal properties.
BUT STILL.
I glanced at my friend, who had the same look of disgust on her face as I probably had on mine. I mouthed the words, “Ready to go?”
She nodded.
Although we’d missed the finale, we’d gotten our money’s worth. The next morning, I woke up in a good. I won’t need another ladies night out like that for another decade. Or until I become one of the make-it-rain-all-night rich women. Whichever comes first.
For the second year in a row, I hosted a Galentine’s Day indoor skydiving excursion. I sported a “Boss” T-shirt for the occasion to dispel any doubt who was in charge. Kidding. Not really.
I joked with the one friend who hadn’t ever flown before that she had to go first. To my surprise, she was game. We ended up flying from youngest to oldest, which still put her first. By that same logic, I went last, which was fine by me since I believe, as the host, guests should go first.
For the first time ever, I entered the wind chamber without any nervousness. Even our instructor commented on how relaxed I was during my flying time. Thank goodness my sister was there to take pictures and videos. I had no sense of how high I’d flown on my own.
This time of year, there’s an indoor flying competition; so several teams were present. We shared our flight time with a team who practiced different configurations in between our flights. At least two of the competitors looked older than me. If I ever get an opportunity to retire, I’ll add this sport to my routine. (How I wish there was a word with more pizzazz than “routine” or “hobby” to describe something one enjoys doing on a regular basis.)
The moment I had been waiting for, the second flight to go to the highest level. The only way the experience could have been more thrilling was to do tricks, which may occur in the future when I have more time and money.
As a matter of fact, while we waited to have our preflight safety class, there was a lone flyer who worked on technique one-on-one with an instructor. That’s truly the way to do it. As for now, I cannot afford to drop a few hundred dollars for ten minutes of instruction.
I enjoy getting together with friends once a year to fly. And my sister, who’s only flown once and crossed it off her bucket list, mainly looked forward to the post flight lunch. She recommended a nearby Peruvian place, which was delicious.
There’s something about completing a fun group activity that makes delicious food taste even better. The conversation flew around as animatedly as we’d each flown, making the whole experience one of the best Valentine’s days I’ve had.
After being out of school, both as a student and a teacher, I don’t wish for snow. I already work from home; so I don’t get snow days. What I get is snowed in, which means that after a long day at work, I don’t get the mental and physical salvation of exercising with other like-minded people.
As a matter of fact, the biggest treat this time around was Mom making snowcream. Never use the first-fallen snow, which conventional wisdom says is full of air pollution, nor the yellow snow. The best quality is the last-fallen fluffy snow.
Since we had plenty of precipitation forewarning, Mom made sure she had the ingredients to make snowcream: vanilla extract, sugar, and sweetened condensed milk. All she needed me to do was gather the final ingredient.
She actually thought I was going to get snow off the patio table…and risk a slip and fall going down those patio steps?! Instead I remained on level ground while carefully padding out to lob two humongous scoops of snow off the hood of her car, which was more than enough.
Mom whipped up that delicious dessert like a pro. Although we don’t often get snow like this, it’s wonderful to commemorate the rare snowfall with an edible, seasonal ingredient.
Don’t let the container fool you. No Cool Whip was used in the making of snowcream. Just a reminder of the ubiquitous plastic containers that we repurpose for just such occasion.
I paired my snowcream with a brownie and Malbec. Malbec with chocolate is my long time favorite dessert, especially dark chocolate. The brownie and snowcream went well together, but I cannot really say that Malbec and ice cream can ever be a good pairing.
There’s a reason one doesn’t normally pair ice cream with wine. Nonetheless, I took one for the team.
Whether one takes the Bad Bunny challenge to learn Spanish in the four months between him hosting SNL and headlining the Super Bowl, or prepares for the consequences of POTUS’ announcement that the US will “run” Venezuela until a “safe, proper and judicious transition can be ensured,” ’tis the season to learn a new language. Or in my case, reboot a language.
In another chapter of my life, I was an international math/science/ESL teacher. I’d taught in five different countries outside the States with the last two being Mexico and Honduras. Even though I taught and mostly socialized in English, being immersed in Spanish was the best way to learn the language.
When I returned to the States in 2009, the motivation to study Spanish evaporated. I still understood what I heard and read, especially since relocating to Texas, but I didn’t really “need” to speak Spanish in order to navigate through life.
In 2014, I travelled to Peru with a small group of other American women. In preparation for that trip, I studied Spanish lessons online, using the same program as American embassy diplomats. Toward the end of my visit, my fluency had bounced back.
Then, I returned to the States.
Since streaming has become a regular habit, I recently turned on the Spanish subtitles while listening in English. This compromise has been available for most of the programing I watch.
The only thing that lessens my language acquisition is that I never simply sit down to binge-watch movies/shows. I’m usually reading, answering emails, or my absolute favorite, digitally illustrating.
When my eyes aren’t watching the screen, I’m not getting my impromptu Spanish lesson, but at least I have the opportunity to practice when I look.
The real impetus for rebooting my Spanish-speaking ability this time around was in preparation for a recently-formed Spanish practice group. The organizer, who’s half Puerto Rican, wanted to learn Spanish because she felt excluded during some family gatherings.
I hope she’ll continue meeting at local restaurants that serve Mexican and South American cuisine and, of course bebidas alcoholicas. That initial event hammered out the details.
Everyone except for me are able to attend either Thursday evenings or Saturday afternoons. I’m exclusively a Saturday afternoon/evening attendee due to my Monday through Friday evening yoga/dance/swimming schedule.
I advised the first-time organizer to plan future events based on what best suited her needs since, if she asked 10 different people, she’d probably get 10 different answers. The bottom line is to make the group work for her so she’ll remain motivated to continue it.
I started working on my New Year’s resolution to swim half a mile, then practice straddle splits in the dry sauna about a week into January. I hadn’t planned to change from my milelong swim goal until I was actually in the pool and the goal no longer motivated me. That had been last year’s goal, which I’d achieved, but now that I’d accomplished it, the thrill was gone. I reached the straddle splits goal sooner than I thought and started conditioning to put my leg behind my head AKA Compass Pose.
Along with a new workout goal, of course I added a new activity: axe throwing. This was originally part of a social group outing, but when the host cancelled, I went by myself. Some friends had told me how relaxing the sport was while my capoeira friends congratulated my preparation for when society collapsed. Although I enjoyed the experience, I wouldn’t do it again until months later when my nephew came into town.
For this year’s Galentine’s Day celebration, but I convinced two friends to go indoor skydiving with me. They’d always wanted to try, but had never gotten around to it. Social Organizer Teresa to the rescue! I’d only done it one time before, so they made me go first since I had “more experience.” This time around, I got to soar to the very top on my third trip up. Afterwards, one friend wanted to jump out of a real plane and the other wanted to return the next day. Um, no and perhaps later, as in the following year around the same time.
At the end of March, I finished my six-month online study for my pharmacy tech license. The part I hated the most was cramming facts about 600 medications although I came up with some fun mnemonics: OMG, Al gave Dara herpes. [Generic: imiquimod; Brand: Aldara; Class: Antiviral; Indication: genital herpes]. Cold Chics Cry about gout. [Generic: Colchicine; Brand: Colcrys; Class: Anti-gout; Indication: Gout].
All that studying and rote memorization paid off in the beginning of April when I passed the pharmacy tech exam with 95%. A few weeks later, we celebrated all the April birthdays: my father, sister, nephew and niece.
In May, I secured a new position at work as a training assistant. Once a teacher, always a teacher. Then for Mother’s Day, I treated Mom and my sister, who’s also a mother, to brunch. We strolled around the block for a wine tasting afterwards.
I started off June with a weekend visit to our timeshare at Myrtle Beach. My parents have had that timeshare for nearly 30 years. They finally ended the contract; so I’m glad I got to chill there one last time.
I absolutely loved this year’s Strange family reunion at the end of June. Not only did I interview 21 relatives, resulting in the best (and longest) episode of the “Strange Family Folklore” podcast to date, but we finally included one of my favorite pastimes, dressing up. Our theme was to dress as your favorite decade. My 60s costume transformed me radically since I wore an Afro wig. Relatives who’d known me all my life, didn’t recognize me.
In July, I took a phenomenal two-week vacation in Ghana, prompting me to work on an 18-week writing project spread over 16 blog posts about the experience. This was the first time I’d written a series since starting my weekly blog in 2011. https://www.mathdreads.com/?cat=42
Continuing my pole fitness journey, I started taking a choreography flow class, then spin pole in August. After finally learning to engage my shoulders, I upped my game by taking two pole classes a week: spin and intro to inverts. At this rate, perhaps I’ll stop looking as if I’m undergoing a military drill and start looking as if I’m actually dancing. After all, pole class is just as strenuous as when I trained for capoeira.
During my birthday celebration, I invited my yoga teacher to “throw 5s,” representing my 55th year on this planet.
Afterwards, my family feasted on takeout, mainly because I wanted those tasty biscuits. Absolutely delicious although the restaurant surprised us with three styles of potatoes: mashed, fried and baked.
Of course I paired the meal with a glass of cabernet just before jetting off to my glorious 90-min full body massage.
I invited the massage therapist to “throw 5s” prior to the massage.
Never one to miss an opportunity to dress up, I used half of an Ahsoka costume to attend a Renaissance Faire fundraiser. Proceeds went toward a tiny home for an adult on the autism spectrum, so he could live independently.
Once again, we attended the Southeastern Regional Poetry Slam. At a smaller venue, but still packed the place with 11 powerful performances. The energy was through the roof. Almost made me wish I was still producing my own theme-inspired spoken word and storytelling show.
If I’d actually feared a long line on the last day of early voting for the primary, I didn’t have to worry or adjust my plans too much. I strongly believe in doing my civic duty prior to the collapse of civilization.
Oktoberfest turned out to be quieter than expected, but at least the food and cider were good.
I’ve never been a big fan of beer, but this selection intrigued me. We all sampled them a weekend at a time.
Not more than 100 yards away from “Oktoberfest” was another outdoor event with even more food options.
Not a moment too soon, Halloween season officially began with my first costume, Foxy Brown, at the Pole-O-Ween event.
For the first time ever, I attended downtown Fayetteville’s Zombie Walk. My sister and I had the right idea: put our names on the waitlist for our favorite Italian restaurant, then stroll to check out all the other costumes.
Since Halloween fell on a Friday this year, I ended the week with a partial zombie costume for my virtual training group. Only two of my trainees wore a head decoration, but everyone raised at least a RAWR claw.
Never impressed with all the Christmas decorations after Halloween, we made the best of the backdrop for our group yoga and wine picture.
Speaking of wine, I was in no mood to prepare a side dish for Thanksgiving. Instead, I prepped my jacket with a half bottle of red and my infamous silver chalice.
Like a bad cliche, the day after Thanksgiving, while everyone else celebrated Black Friday, we were among the unfortunate observers of Brown Friday. The half bathroom in the lower part of the house, near the laundry room and my bedroom, flooded. In exploring the plumbing problem, they discovered an asbestos problem. I was like the woman in the bubble, having to unzip and zip up two temporary plastic doors to go to and from my bedroom. The silver linings: 1) getting my steps and squats in, coming and going to my bedroom; 2) the peacefulness of the nearby laundromat; and 3) still finding occasions to play dress up!
First dress-up occasion: watching a live performance where dancers dressed up as characters from popular children’s stories. One of my friends danced as the Cheshire Cat.
For the second costume opportunity, I dressed as the only Black Who from Whoville at a Christmas-themed dance performance. Always a good time, especially with my “fancy” wine jacket. In other words, I stuffed my small wine bottle and chalice into the pockets of a faux fur coat.
No Christmas season would be complete without our annual Strange Family Reunion Virtual Christmas party, where, once again, I brought home the gold!
Finally, two days after Christmas on Saturday, or on Day Two of Kwanzaa, Kujichagulia (Self-Determination), all the family gathered together in the living room to watch a short film, Abundance Blessings, that I’d gifted to the family. I’d sworn off giving materialistic gifts back in 2022 and have focused on family events instead.
I’d never been to a Grilled Cheese Festival before, but the name alone evoked fond childhood memories. However, we coupled the experience with ciders.
I don’t remember what charity the event raised money for, but people were definitely generous, sharing extra food tokens with us as we arrived. We even saw other friends who’d arrived hours earlier and joined them in line for our first sample.
The friend who I’d come with immediately vetoed the grilled salmon and cheese quesadilla. Her palate didn’t include fish with cheese. Since I was starving at that point, I wolfed it down, not caring about the combination nor the fact that it wasn’t quite a “grilled cheese sandwich.” I later learned that that food truck had run out of bread since they hadn’t factored in other food trucks not showing up. Apparently, there were supposed to be anywhere from six to nine different food trucks providing some version of grilled cheese, but only three had showed up.
Next sample was the ol’ school grilled cheese served up from a renovated bus. Everything about it was absolutely delicious. Even my friend, who was far more particular about food than I was, enjoyed it and returned for seconds.
The first place winner, according to my palate, was the grilled brisket and cheese. Fortunately, I sampled the sandwiches in the order of increasing deliciousness.
The weather cooperated with the outdoor event until the sun went down. The temperature dropped way too low for my comfort, especially since I hadn’t worn a jacket. In all aspects of my life, I pack light and live uncluttered.
I joked with three other friends, who included checking out guys along with their pursuit of grilled cheese and drinking, why they couldn’t flirt with men who worked at the venue who could have turned on the heat lamps. I wanted to stay long enough to hear the band, but in the end, the plunging temperature motivated us to leave.
I’d stopped eating bread on a regular basis a few years ago. Although that event was an edible indulgence, I definitely planned to resume making bread scarce in my diet once again.
For our 84th consecutive Strange Family Reunion, we had some brand-new activities along with improvements on classic activities, making this year’s gathering fresh for everyone.
One of our continuing traditions was the flag display. The Ghanaian flag represented part of the story of where our family DNA came from. As a matter of fact, that was one of the reasons nine of us visited Ghana for two weeks.
In recent years, we have incorporated a reunion theme.
This year’s reunion theme was the 70s and Soul Train.
On Friday, along with our usual fish fry, one of my cousins had invited her line-dancing group to perform. Her purpose was twofold: entertainment and education. She shared that her line-dancing class was a wonderful way to stay in shape and socialize. Another dancer was a member of the medical field and told us some facts about the link between exercise and good health.
One of the needles we thread at our reunions is hosting a variety of activities for different age groups, especially for younger relatives and the young at heart. There was a field day (balloon toss, basketball, volleyball, cornhole, dodgeball) for the kids on Saturday morning while I interviewed 21 Jesse Strange descendants for my podcast, Strange Family Folklore.
Additionally, another cousin, an accomplished quilter whose works have been a part of several exhibitions, arranged a one-day popup exhibition.
Her quilts depict African American subject matter along with more personalized family quilts. Below are two examples where her siblings and their children decorated a square to represent themselves.
Even the fabric that served as the base for the quilting squares, reminds the African diaspora of our roots.
My cousin provided the family an opportunity to create our own representative squares, which will eventually be made into a quilt. My square depicts my childhood nickname, “Tweety Bird,” and my dreads.
Another continuing tradition was the hayride, which occurred multiple times on Friday and Saturday. This year’s route had been expanded to include the Strange cemetery.
I had not visited since that rainy day when we buried my Uncle Floyd in 2023. (Please click on individual pictures to see the full view, then click on the browser back arrow to return to blog view.)
For the first time ever, the Strange family reunion rented a nearby venue to host our Saturday evening catered dinner and entertainment. The organizers encouraged everyone to dress up as their favorite decade.
Never one to pass up on a chance to dress in costume, all I needed to complete my look was a larger-than-life Afro wig. I already owned the bellydancing pants and top. Majority of my relatives who’d known me all their lives, didn’t recognize me initially.
On Sunday, our very own ordained members of the cloth presided over church under the Strange shelter.
For me, the most intriguing thing my cousin said during her sermon was: “There’s no piece of dirt that is any better than another piece of dirt. We’ve all come from the dirt and to the dirt we will return.”
That resonated with me. The only thing that has ever stopped me from achieving something was the lack of time devoted to the endeavor. Not the lack of money or talent.
The real challenge: how will we spend our limited time from dirt creation to dirt reunification? If that seems too big a question, then scale it back to this: what can be done between now and the next family reunion? Stay tuned.
The first time I attended a pole-dancing competition, I was brand new to the sport. I couldn’t analyze many of the moves, but the most impressive thing I witnessed was different body types poling very well. Up until that point, I had lied to myself about losing around 20 pounds in order to do certain pole tricks. Afterwards, I realized that I only needed consistent practice, not drastic weight loss.
The same friend who’d driven me there the first time, drove again. We missed the 10 AM performance of another student from our studio, but we eventually saw our former teacher much later in the evening.
We located three other teachers from our studio, sitting in the third row. One of them informed us that the event was running an hour and a half late. Judges had difficulty submitting their evaluations electronically. The time in between performances lagged by several minutes. At one point, when only about five minutes had passed between competitors, we cheered.
Although this event occurred on the second official day of summer, that was the beginning of the heatwave. The facility jacked up the AC. Granted, competitors needed the cool temperature so the poles wouldn’t become slimy even after volunteers had cleaned them in between performances. Of course, I forgot to bring a sweater or wrap.
We dashed out to eat. Shivering had worked up an appetite. I practically inhaled my coconut lamb curry with buttered naan and mango lassi. The warm (both physical and figurative) ambiance made the food even tastier.
Once we returned to the pole competition, a woman who had a red toy car fit for a toddler on stage, was in the middle of her performance. Not only was her performance infused with humor, pole tricks and storytelling, but we later learned that the 62-year-old had practiced her routine for a year. She was elated that her four-minute routine had not left her out of breath. She definitely deserved that first place award.
The next performer was a much younger man of color. Earlier, when we were checking in to get our wristband, I’d complimented his fabulous Afro. He performed a sensuous routine to a slow 70s song. Although he’d strutted on stage in a black, flowing, feather-trimmed robe, once he threw that to the ground, his pole attire was the stuff of male dancer fantasies.
We left after our former pole teacher performed, vowing to make our attendance to the yearly competition an annual celebration. Also, I have taken away different inspirations each time I’ve attended.
