Usually when I advise someone to “take a picture, it’ll last longer,” I’m being sarcastic. This time though, I was being practical. Austin normally gets ice storms and flooding rains. So, when I prepared the living room for my daily virtual yoga class and witnessed a light dusting of snow, I figured it would melt away by the time the class ended.
I readied the camera on my phone, so I could snap two quick pictures.
A dusting of snow may be delightful, but not the cold weather.
I barely stepped outside.
My parents have two fabulously descriptive phrases to communicate “it’s cold outside:” “The hawk is out” and, my personal favorite, “It’s colder than a witch’s tit.”
Now for once, I was wrong.
Not only had the snow lasted by the time yoga ended, it was still snowing. If I were a child, I would have bundled up and gone outside to make snow angels. Adult me enjoyed the phenomenon from the cozy warm comfort of my apartment.
Some joked about how the kids were missing out on the true joy of a snow day, which is the cancellation of school and getting to stay home. The world has truly turned upside down and to prove it, it snowed in Austin.
On January 6th, some Christians celebrated Three Kings Day, to commemorate when the three wise men brought gifts to baby Jesus. I’ve never observed this celebration, but I thought it was fitting that the two democratic Georgian senators, Warnock and Ossoff, officially won their elections on this day. There were many factors that led to their success, but I give much credit to that Black Girl Magic Powerhouse, Stacey Abrams. They were my secular three kings–or more precisely one queen and two kings–delivering the control of The Senate to the Democrats.
But that fabulous news was washed out by a lame duck presidential-inspired coup attempt at The Capitol. An angry mob of mostly white people broke windows, doors, smeared feces, fought with capitol police and all other manner of violence, which did not reflect any respect for law and order, nor did they appear to believe that blue lives mattered. They only cared about disenfranchising millions of Americans who voted for Biden and Harris.
Thanks to the mostly maskless insurrectionists, the FBI, along with the help of people on social media, have been identifying many of those criminals. Even though many of the insurrectionists were placed on the “no-fly list,” some made their way back to their home, only to be arrested by local law enforcement.
In the meantime, Democrats and some Republicans began talking about impeaching the president-reject for a historic second time despite him having only two weeks left in office. He still could run for office again and would be entitled to a pension. The second impeachment sought to prevent that–among other things. Once the Democratic-controlled House impeached him for a second time, I began thinking of how to craft a cocktail worthy of observing the occasion.
I didn’t think that peach and mint would actually go well together, but I had to experiment with it anyway.
Or be drunk to drink it. Either way, there was only one way to find out.
I cut up a few mint leaves, followed by a double shot of schnapps.
The minty taste was subtle, which was why I didn’t muddle the leaves. An alternative method was violently and pleasurably ripping up those mint leaves, which hurts no one and helps make a cocktail. Then, I tossed in a few ice cubes.
The next evening, I took my niece’s advice and added fresh lime juice.
The next evening, I took my niece’s advice and added fresh lime juice. That was definitely the right call. Now once the Senate starts impeachment proceedings, I’ll already have my cocktail ready. I don’t usually celebrate anything Congress does, but life’s unusual during a pandemic.
Last year, I volunteered for the CCBFF for the first time because I had never heard of this festival before. This year my very first short film, There’s Always Something, had been selected to participate.
With giddy excitement, I experienced the behind the scenes activities of being selected, starting with participating in a prerecorded panel discussion moderated by one of last year’s winning filmmakers, and five other selected filmmakers. All of us were in the same screening block. Among the six of us, about half of us had not attended film school, but were motivated to document something significant in our lives.
Another wonderful benefit to being selected was my free VIP pass to watch as many films during the 72-hour period as my schedule allowed. I saw back-to-back examples of different approaches to storytelling through film. One short film viewed like a stage play, but was completely accomplished via Zoom.
Most film blocks ended with the filmmakers’ panel discussion. Not all filmmakers had participated, but for the ones who did, they provided the background information on the choices that were made, many were funding based.
On the first evening, the festival provided a virtual happy hour, where participating filmmakers met the founder and CEO, Winston G. Williams. Not only did he welcome us, but he told us that we were forever a part of the CCBFF. Anything we needed from here on out, we shouldn’t hesitate to reach out during and after the festival, we should reach out.
Then, we had the opportunity to talk with other filmmakers in 3 different breakout rooms. My biggest takeaway the next time I participate in a networking happy hour will be to type out a brief paragraph with hyperlinks, so I can copy and paste it into the chat. I composed one on the fly, but that’s something I could have had already prepared had I thought of it.
I copied and pasted the contact information and credentials of the other filmmakers into a Word Doc. At some point, I’m going to organize the information. For real.
In the meantime, I’ve been watching videos from another filmmaker’s YouTube channel. So far, the episodes are reviews of movie trailers and movies. I started with the very first episode and progressed through the collection chronologically. I’m not at the point where I want to have my own YouTube, but I can never say never. Besides, watching videos always give me the opportunity to be productive in between calls as I illustrate.
I trust that while illustrating and watching videos during work, my creative course will flow into my next greatest thing. And at some point, my third book will be completed and perhaps I can fully throw myself into a bigger film project.
Exactly eight months ago on Friday, March the 13th, 2020, the president finally stopped denying the truth: we were indeed in the midst of a pandemic rather than a hoax. So, I hoped that he’d once again, lift his veil of denial to concede that he’d lost the election. After all, it was Friday, November the 13th.
Sometimes I flirt with being superstitious, but it’s more a result of anxiousness than anything else. I know there’s no reasonable expectation that the president would come to his senses–he’s seldom demonstrated that he experiences such a condition.
Instead, my wishful thinking lie in everyone else’s response. Lawsuit after frivolous lawsuit strengthened my belief that democracy wouldn’t be another casualty during this traumatic year where so many people have died, businesses have gone under, and things in general have gone awry. As a matter of fact, if democracy were to fail, this would’ve been the year to do so. Yet, thank goodness our courts demanded evidence and none of the lawsuits thus far have gone to trial. My favorite flimsy lawsuit motivated a lawyer to state that there was a “nonzero number” of GOP poll watchers. The former math teacher in me just rejoiced as I reflected upon how three different cultures (Sumerians, Mayans, and Southeast Asian Indians) invented the concept of “zero.”
Ten days later, my wish somewhat came true. The president still hadn’t conceded, but at least the president-elect received his transition money and other resources. The stock market increased. Big businesses, those corporate whores, stopped coddling the orange lame duck and embraced the president-elect and his environmental-friendly agenda.
The skies turned a healthy blue. The birds began to sing, the bees started to buzz. Democrats became giddy as the president-elect picked highly qualified, rather than ironic, candidates for his pandemic taskforce and cabinet. I had to temper my overreaction to hearing politicians and appointees speak in full, competent sentences on subjects where they were experts. After all, this was how the office of POTUS had become internationally respected in the first place.
Nonetheless, if I had any lingering superstitious feelings about Friday the 13th, the transformative year of 2020 has obliterated that. Many of the illusions have been necessarily torn down, thanks to Rona.
Given the fact that half of my closet is costumes, I could have easily recycled a past character. Yet, the past four years, culminating in the existential crisis time period known as “2020,” inspired me to pull together my art and costuming supplies to devise a new character: Ms. Information the Pseudoscientist.
I decorated my tie dyed lab coat with colorful pieces of sticky foam on which I’d written misinformation.
I had a plethora of bullshit to choose from. I approached the task like a quick write exercise, jotting down the first 12 things that came to mind. They consisted of political and pseudoscientific “alternative facts.”
In the meantime, my roommate, who had no intention of dressing up, instead made a gluten-free version of Depression Era Chocolate cake.
Something in the concoction animated. Cake batter bubbled and spewed over its tins like the oven version of the volcano experiment.
[Turns out, it WAS a chocolate cake volcano! I discovered nearly a week later that the recipe for Depression Era Chocolate cake includes vinegar. I guess spewing cake batter was something that lifted spirits back then.]
Yet, this being Halloween, I reminded her that this holiday was the perfect time to celebrate with a hot mess dessert. She spooned out the delicious baked chocolate confection, topped it haphazardly with whip cream and called it the “State of Black/White Relations in 2020.” A nightmare indeed.
Earlier in the week, I’d tacked up a black flat bed sheet on the wall to cover up my art and provide a background for a Zoom event.
I kept it up, so we could use it as a photo wall.
Our first guest arrived in time for lunch. She brought us brisket that her husband had prepared. We provided the sides, wine, and of course that chocolaty dessert.
I’m not sure if Jello shots are classified as a dessert or an edible cocktail, but I was so excited to make this batch.
I’d bought the largest oranges I could find and cut them in half. Then I used a knife to cut out most of the pulp and finally a spoon to scrape out the rest. Finally, I mixed strawberry-flavored jello with peach flavored vodka and poured it into orange peel cups.
Fortunately, the cups were in a plastic tray since that liquid jello oozed out of one of the cups. I discovered much after the fact that I should have used a handheld juicer instead of a knife, then scraped out the pulp with a spoon. All this meant was that I’d have to make shots again in the near future. Again, a less than attractive dessert on Halloween only adds to the celebration.
In the evening, another friend and her husband arrived with wine and vegan curry.
I knew her dietary restrictions and had made Thai jungle curry the night before. What a difference overnight marination makes! So, we had two vegan curries, wine, art and whatever movie HBO played in the background.
Just so happen that my friend and I were part of the same writing group, but neither one of us had been writing much.
I lifted the black sheet, so they could see the best 25 rough draft watercolors I’d done for my upcoming book.
She expressed an interest in seeing the other 131 rough draft paintings.
I handed her the vinyl envelope with the other paintings and gave her husband my iPad, so he could see the final illustrations.
Adding to the ambiance of the Halloween night, we went outside to view the Blue Moon,
which everyone took great pains to explain that the color itself hadn’t changed. Just meant that it was the second full moon within a month, which occurs about once every two and a half years, hence the expression, “once in a blue moon.”
Here’s another fine example of showing up being half the battle. I submitted the one and only spooky poem I’ve ever written, which was about my hat. My submission was supposed to go into a box with other submissions from members of my woman-identified film group. The writer of the randomly drawn submission would represent us at this event.
As soon as I got word that I’d won, I knew that I was the only one in the drawing.
I’ve had this scientifically proven to me years ago. I’d attended a workshop where there were 15 giveaways and 16 participants. I was the one who didn’t have her ticket drawn. Case closed.
Not only was this a Halloween event, but also another voting push.
I had already voted weeks ago prior to this event. In between the horror readings, the host kept encouraging everyone to vote if they haven’t already done so.
And yes, of course, this was yet another opportunity to dress in costume.
I’d originally decorated this hat to go along with the “Things Under the Bed” theme at The Austin Writers Roulette.
The sword wasn’t part of the original costume concept.
But let’s face it: what a badass additional accessory!
I bought my ticket to this fundraising drive-in event as if my life depended on it.
Since my mental health received a healthy boost of sanity, who’s to say it didn’t.
After all, once I decided to dress up as Anubis, Egyptian god of the underworld in honor of viewing “Pet Sematary,”
I had a fake existential crisis, “Wait, if I’m Anubis…aren’t I already dead? Or immortal?” Actually, none of the above. I dutifully put on a mask like someone who still had good sense.
Originally, I hadn’t planned to dress up.
Yet, since this event was co-sponsored by WIFT Austin, of which I’m the secretary, I rallied to the call for help. One of the event co-chairs asked if another board member could attend to help her.
Turns out, the volunteers from other organizations assisted her,
so I was there in all my costume glory for moral support, which suited me just fine. She made all the announcements for our organization. The only thing I did was give her two hints about my costume in order to get the audience, who were all sequestered in their cars, to guess who I was dressed as.
The first hint was that I wore jackal ears.
The second hint was that I wore a galabeya. I’d told her prior to our bit that I’d bought my galabeya in Egypt although people from other countries also wear them. So, she gave the crowd an additional hint, saying that Egyptians wore galabeyas.
One guy leaned his head out of his driver’s side window and yelled, “Anubis!”
We were so excited that someone knew who I was that my fellow board member said we’d gift him a free beer and skittles. Hilarious since those things were “free” with the cost of the ticket, but at least I’d save him the trouble of walking to the makeshift concession stand to deliver his prize.
Turns out, I received the real gift.
Once I approached the car, I saw that the winner was one of my former science students! And his girlfriend, who was sitting shotgun, was also my former science student.
Unfortunately I couldn’t hug them, but we were all overjoyed to see one another. He said he knew who I was dressed as the moment he saw me. She said that she knew who I was when I spoke on the mic.
Felt like I hadn’t seen them in years, but truthfully, it had been just a little over a year ago when I’d last seen her at a local film festival where she’d entered her short horror movie. At the time of the shutdown, she’d just wrapped up a shoot as a producer, so at least she was in post production.
I told them about my becoming a one-woman production company, dropping the name of my podcast, CBD & Poetry. He looked it up and confirmed it with me. Is it wrong that I got a little thrill that my former students will eventually listen to my podcast? Nah. It’s 2020.
And just to cement the idea I’ve been quarantined for seven months, I was far too excited that get home in time to STILL watch the newest episode of SNL. Baby steps.
A friend recently invited eight of us to attend a backyard, socially-distanced happy hour with plenty of wine, hand sanitizer and disinfectant wipes. Plus, there was a mask requirement until seated. With all that precaution, only five of us RSVP’d.
I arrived first and had my pick of seats in this backyard oasis.
In addition to this loose ring of chairs, there was a trampoline, hammock, and a volleyball/badminton net. Since my friend was a mother of two, having outdoor activities was a must–not that we played any.
The whole evening, it was just the two of us,
which was wonderful since the last time we’d seen one another was at my Leap Day Party way back on the 29th of February of this year back in the old world.
Considering that this event was advertised essentially as a wino party where everything we touched had to be wiped down,
I took the liberty of picking up my own food before heading over. That was an excellent call except I should have ordered more food. Those sliders slid down faster than I imagined.
For a few hours, I could forget. I sipped wine–three different types in all–from my favorite special occasion silver chalice and forgot all about being in a pandemic. Despite the distance of our chairs and wiping down everything in the bathroom after using it. Just two friends catching up with one another.
Like a gamer getting more life for accomplishing a task, I left my friend’s house with additional sanity.
October 13th marked the first day of in-person early voting in Texas.
Even though the first and last days of early voting will be the busiest, I wanted to do my part on the first day. So, let the games begin! Actually, that’s a false signal since game-playing started months ago with the underfunding of the United States Postal Service (USPS). Then the governor decided that there could only be one place to turn in mail-in ballots for each county, regardless of population size, which prompted at least three lawsuits.
The president declared months ago that if voting was more accessible, then no Republican would ever be elected. With that rallying cry, Republicans have executed a number of strategies to suppress the vote, gerrymandering, invalidating mail-in ballots, blah, blah, blah…but wait, what’s this?
Now that the president has trailed in many polls after being hospitalized with what he touted as a hoax, many Republicans who are up for reelection are actually trying to distance themselves from him. It’s like a scene out of the Serengeti. Once the lion is too old to be of use, the lionesses no longer feed him.
The only difference: this King of the Jungle doesn’t realize his trusty minions, who’ve gaslit the general public for four years, have all but abandoned him now that his base has shrank. Yet as long as he can pack in hordes of mostly maskless crowds to cheer on his antics, he’s on top of the world–his own world, that is.
Nonetheless, after working, doing yoga, and eating lunch, I drove to my nearest early polling place, my neighborhood library, to help dethrone him.
At 2:35 I joined the line,
which was shorter than a line for a popular ride at an amusement park but moved faster. As a matter of fact, it moved faster than the socially distanced grocery store line back in March and April, which was a good thing since I’d forgotten my umbrella on that sunny day.
Although I had an ebook on my phone, which I had every intention of reading as I waited, I took in the ambience of being outside and socially distanced from the mixed demographics of races, ages, and physical abilities. Plus, I’d struck up a friendly conversation with the guy immediately in front of me, who was part of the health care community. The great thing about being six feet apart was that we could still talk to one another without yelling.
Nonetheless yelling occurred anyway because we were in a pandemic and it was 2020. A young white guy about four people ahead of me, told the older white woman behind him to put on her mask and stop standing so close to him. She transformed from a jovial conversationalist to belligerent bitch in a split second. The middle aged woman she’d been happily chatting with attempted to talk her down from her rage. She reminded the older woman that they’d been talking so nicely to one another previously, but the older woman just ranted about how the young man shouldn’t have addressed her in such a disrespectful tone. The older woman at least complied with his request, but also continued to rant about all the bullshit she’d had to put up with in her life.
She’d lowered her mask to drink water and forgot to replace it because she was talking to the woman behind her. So, this transformation was a shock.
Fortunately, the line continued its steady progression and I breathed a sigh of relief as the ranting woman quieted down as entered the building. The guy immediately in front of me, complimented the middle aged woman immediately in front of him about how her soothing tone helped defuse the conflict. She confessed to having an 11 year old.
Throughout the brief argument, I wished to make myself smaller, invisible even if I could’ve. All I could think of was, “Will you white people stop arguing before my black ass gets shot?!” One of my fears is that a stray bullet will somehow find me.
In the end, I waited 25 minutes in line and spent about 5 minutes voting. Voting would’ve been faster if the powers that be would’ve allowed choosing a straight party ticket. In a way it was entertaining to think, “You’re fired!” to each republican, starting with the president.
Before exiting the building, I grabbed my sticker, pulled off my disposable rubber gloves and smiled at the significance of exercising my right to vote.
Although the plague prevented me from having a destination 50th birthday getaway, I’ve still managed to have a wonderful, protracted celebration, thanks to family and friends.
Besides, going to dinner the Saturday before my birthday, then taking the day off for my actual birthday and a Zoom celebration with fellow Virgos, my mother and a nephew, I received a few delivered birthday gifts.
First up was a care package from one of my cousins.
First up was a care package from one of my cousins. In addition to lounge wear, and a $25 money order, she also included a $25 gift card to Longhorn Steakhouse. The gift card furthered my pursuit to try a different restaurant every week while in quarantine. I’d never dined at this restaurant prior to the plague, so it was truly a treat to pick up for Friday lunch.
Since I believe in leftovers, I only ate a small part of the steak the first day, but I polished off that lobster tail in one sitting. I enjoyed steak and eggs with fries for Saturday and Sunday brunch.
Next, a good friend who I’ve not seen in years sent an essential oil diffuser.
Years ago, I had a diffuser and when I moved, I donated it for lack of use. This time around, I’ve used the diffuser every day. Can’t go wrong using something that adds to self care while Rona’s here.
Then a delivery person came one day during the middle of my live-streamed yoga class.
I called to my roommate, who was on the phone in her room with the door closed, that her delivery had arrived and continued with class. I felt so bad when she received the package and told me that a friend had sent ME a box scones. What a lovely breakfast treat.
My sister had warned that her birthday card to me would be late.
I didn’t realize that she was making it herself. It arrived heavily taped up.
Once I opened the first envelope, there was another envelope inside the card, containing a crisp $20 bill.
Of all things! Against many warnings not to send money through the mail, her card defied the odds and had made it through the ever-worsening USPS.
Again, I got myself another Friday birthday treat. At that point, October had begun.
Nonetheless, it’s always wonderful to celebrate even if it’s a belated birthday or just the end of the week or beginning of a new month.
A truly unexpected gift arrived the day I bought my grapefruit vodka.
One of my Rouletters sent me a box filled with nostalgia and sentiment, mostly from my show. The T-shirt bore the last three words of one of my poems, describing myself, which he stated served as a reminder of who I am as I enter my sixth decade. The book, which wasn’t officially a birthday gift, was full of pictures of me dressed up while hosting the Roulette. He’d meant to give it to me at the last Roulette, but it arrived at his house afterwards.
Then there were the beads. Here’s the explanation he wrote about the beads:
“These beads go by many names. I first learned the name decades after I got them on my 5-year hitchhiking trip after I got out of the Navy. I was in a grocery store and a woman stopped me and asked me about my Job’s Tears necklace. After decades of wearing them that was the first time I ever heard “Job’s Tears.”
Once I got that, I researched them online. It’s binomial name, Coix lacryma-jobi, also known as “Adlay millet.” It is native to Southeast Asia, but is cultivated in warmer climates around the world , including Southern US. Job’s Tears has many uses, including jewelry, rosaries, rattles, teething toys and musical instruments.
It is the only bead created by Nature Herself. The way it grows the hole is natural. The nature color ranges from a deep brown to off white. The colors are all dyed, which takes some effort. I found them for sale in jewelry, but could not find them in bulk.
I finally found a woman in Soweto, South Africa that was selling by the quarter pound. I bought the 11 bags she had. I made this 300-bead necklace for your 50th birthday. Buddhists and Orthodox Christians both have 300-bead prayer ropes. In Tibet, they are called Vaijayanti Malas mostly used by monks or those on years’ long pilgrimages.”
All in all, these gifts helped in some form of self care: good food, relaxation, humor and prayer. Four things I wish to carry forward for the rest of my life, especially when the entire world is undergoing a shared trauma.
