Category: Special Events

Chasing after the Moon

For a second time in a row, I attended the only local film festival in town. Unlike last year, there wasn’t another cool event competing during the same weekend; so I was better able to immerse myself into the world of independent film and the creatives who dedicated themselves into the art of filmmaking.

The opening-night featured film was a Luther Vandross documentary. Among my many talents, singing isn’t one of them. I danced in my seat and sang to my heart’s content along with other audience members who knew the words. As amazingly talented Luther was, known for his romantic songs, he died never knowing the love of an intimate partner because he didn’t want the added stigma of being gay. He already battled with being dark-skinned and fluctuating weight. Besides, he felt that coming out would have shamed his mother.

After the movie, many of us strolled down the block to the festival reception. Although I’d come alone, I joined a table of two women, mainly because of the Black woman with the African headwrap who exuded a lot of energy. Turned out that she wasn’t some out-of-town filmmaker, but a fellow yogi who used to attend my Tuesday evening hot yoga class.

I told her that I didn’t recognize her because normally, I didn’t have my glasses on in class. Yet, we swapped stories in a way that we never had in class. I got her contact information once she stated that one of her businesses was buying properties to rent out for high-end Air BnBs. I shared that information with my sister who’d also started buying and fixing up properties.

Soon afterwards, an actor from Durham joined us. In real life, he taught martial arts, but had acted in a horror film that made it in the festival. I told him that was the one genre I no longer watched, but wished him well. If he was half as energetic in that film as he was at the reception, the the film should be quite entertaining despite its genre.

The next morning, my usual plan to sleep in was thwarted because I also wanted to do a few loads of laundry before spending nearly the entire day downtown at the festival. I even bought a “dinner with a director” ticket for $20, figuring that that would be the most inexpensive meal and entertainment during the dinner block.

After all, the whole point for the weekend was to watch independent films and network. Although I didn’t emphasize networking too much, nothing will happen if I’m not in the space to actively do so. What I loved about the dinner was that, like everyone else in this industry, he had to get creative about funding and reached out to a pro athlete. Talk about connections.

Last year, I didn’t watch any films at the Capitol, which I thought was a theatre. I stood corrected. Although the space itself has gone through many different iterations, it was now a school and the screenings took place in an art classroom. I enjoyed both documentary films that I watched in that space, but those folding chairs were something to be desired.

The first documentary film I watched at the Capitol was about a revolutionary professor at my alma mater, Carolina, and playwright who wrote realistically about life in the South for Blacks, which was why he had a challenging time getting them produced in the South. Southern whites hardly ever want to see the ugly side of the so-called genteel South. The playwright himself grew up with Blacks, which was why he could write about their humanity.

The second documentary I saw at the Capitol, played in the last block as an alternative to the horror short films. I thought more people would watch a documentary about several Black women who choose to breastfeed, birthing coaches and doulas, but there were only four of us in the audience. Overall, I liked the documentary even though it seemed a little long. Could have been the time of day or the uncomfortableness of the the chair.

I sacrificed my usual Sunday morning hot yoga class to enjoy the last day of the festival, which kicked off with a members barbecue and awards ceremony. Since it was included in the price of my VIP pass, I knew I’d attend in order to get the rest of my money’s worth.

As I stood in the food line, I scanned the room. Almost made me feel like the new girl at school, looking for a table to join and eat lunch. Turned out, one of the filmmakers at the table I finally sat at welcomed me to the “cool kids table.” That analogy hadn’t been lost on her either.

At that table sat filmmakers who represented four different films. I’d already spoken to two of them previously and had seen all but one of their films. That was part of the magic of such a festival. One of the filmmakers was a professor and had done an animated film.

I whipped out my phone and started jotting down information about which animation program that she’d used. Much to my delight, I learned that I could import digital illustrations from the drawing program that I’d been using for the last four years. Another filmmaker beside me was taking notes from my notes.

In that brief conversation, I’d already thought of a short script that I’d written years ago and could polish up, illustrate and voice. As usual, wearing all the hats myself. It’s not that I’m such a control freak, wanting everything myself. I just feel that I’d have to pay other people to take the project as seriously as I do and in the end, would have to do all the things myself anyway.

I’m going to use the wish to start animating to keep the fires burning on finishing two other projects that I need to complete prior to starting anything else: my aunt’s surprised birthday video and finally finish typing up all my journals.

The former would’ve already been completed had I never started studying for my pharmacy tech license, but the nerd in me absolutely love studying, especially since the company is paying for it and in the long run will put more money in my pocket.

Plus, I don’t want to do a slapdash job of editing the video; so, I’ve taken my time getting everything together. The video want be anything fancy, but at the same time, I want it to be a documentation of the event and an entertaining showcase of embedded pictures.

After the barbecue awards ceremony, I returned to my car to read email on my phone until the first block began in less than an hour.

On Sunday, all the juried award-winning films were shown. I’d seen two out of the three feature films, but none of the short film award winners. They showed two of the featured films back to back, the second one I’d seen before about the first environmental movement that dealt with the inherent racism of burying contaminated wastes in a predominantly Black area. Two of the people who were in the documentary had answered questions about their experience and the making of the film.

As much as I’d enjoyed that documentary, I chose to eat lunch next door at one of my favorite Italian restaurants. I’d eaten there several times before and knew what I wanted. When the server responded to my order, “This will be easy,” I had no idea that she’d bring my drink, drop off my food and disappear until about 20 minutes after I’d finished my meal. I wasn’t in the mood to aggressively flag down another server for a to-go box, but since I’d begun watching a video, I sat there silently fuming.

My server finally returned to drop off the bill. I’m usually a straight up 20% tipper plus I round up to the nearest dollar. I don’t believe in stiffing anyone, so she got around 10%. I honestly believe that servers should be paid a living wage and tips should be eliminated, but for poor service like that, she may not last too long.

I returned to my car to continue watching the video of a property tour that my sister and her family had made of a house that they are renovating to rent. When I finished, I returned to the theatre and caught the last 20 minutes or so of the documentary before the block of award-winning short films played.

Among those films, one was an animation. Those filmmakers managed to tell a touching and compelling story without any dialogue. I’ll have dialogue for mine, but they had a whole team of people working together for their film. As much as I’d love to have that for my animation, I’ll see what I can do with the resources I have.

Deck of Cards Plus Jokers Birthday

I was blessed with another year around the sun. Similar to my other birthday celebrations, I planned what to buy for myself and how to spend time with others.

I actually got started last month when I discovered that I’d left one of my bathing suits at the gym and the other one was so worn that the elastic had gummied. So, I bought myself two other two-piece swimsuits as replacements since that was on my list of birthday gifts to myself. Just in time to kick off my 54th birthday celebration.

As par for the course, I took a day off. Not THE actual birthday, which landed on a Saturday, but still, I had to reward myself with a day off from work, which started off by sleeping in for about 30 minutes longer.

After breakfast, I attended a water aerobics class. I let the instructor know that I was kicking off my birthday celebration a day early. At the beginning of class, she led everyone singing “Happy Birthday” to me.

After class, I went grocery shopping. Then, I went REAL shopping. As a matter of fact, I’d cashed in 2500 recognition points from work, which translated into a $25 gift card at the Apple store. A drop in the bucket, considering that I ended up buying an iPad, case, and pencil, which all added up very fast even with trading in my old iPad.

The closest Apple store to me was a 90-minute drive. That alone was reason enough for a PTO day, but my birthday day off doesn’t require me to leave the house, much less the city.

I had a choice of several tempting restaurants at that mall. Instead, I ordered online for a local, family-owned Mexican restaurant, which I’d timed perfectly for a pick up when I arrived in town, on the way home. Topped off with my own homemade coconut margarita, that was a perfect topper to the day and the best part, the sun had not yet set.

On the morning of my actual birthday, again I slept in. Since Saturdays are my normal cleaning days, I continued that domestic ritual.

For two Saturdays a month, I meet virtually to discuss race-based articles. During the last meeting, I told them that for the next event, I’d wear a tiara to celebrate my birthday and invited all of them to join me. Two other women wore tiaras and two other women wore fascinators. So, even though the conversation was heavy, I’m grateful that some chose to share in my joy.

The joy continued when the family met at a family-owned seafood restaurant. We’d never eaten there before, but months ago, I’d ordered takeout, which was yummy. The dine-in experience was even better. Not only did we start off with cocktails, but all the food was delicious. First time that I had to wear a plastic bib with plastic gloves. My nephew dug right in with his eating attire. I was apprehensive about it, saying that I’d eat the bulk of my food at home as leftovers. My sister, on the other hand, didn’t give a shit, didn’t wear any of it and still managed not to get food all over herself.

Later that evening, I had the pleasure of going to a musical with both of my sisters. Originally, my out-of-town sister was supposed to head back home after lunch, but a change of circumstances meant that she and her family were staying in town for a few days longer. So, my nephew agreed to allow her to go in his place. That was truly a birthday miracle. Besides, had he gone, his mother would have had to wake him up. In a way, I’m envious at how easily he can fall asleep even with a lot of sound and commotion going on.

On Sunday, we all met at a Mexican seafood restaurant. They served up margaritas in one size: punchbowl. My spicy mango margarita came with a tanjin straw, which I nibbled on for a sweet and tangy appetizer. One of my sisters talked so much crap about the spicy candy until I let her taste it for herself, then she admitted that it was actually good.

We’d never eaten there before, but it was an instant hit. My niece, who’s a vegan, researched the restaurant and came up with a winner. I can tell my family’s come a long way since fish came out with the head on it and no one freaked out about it.

Another delicious thing: my sister and her husband have been pescaterians for several years. Throughout the meal, they were praising the yellow rice that most of us received as a side dish. As I packed up my leftovers in a to-go box, I tasted a forkful of my rice without the salmon and detected the secret ingredient of why the rice was so yummy. Chicken broth. Lord knows how I enjoy flavoring my vegetable dishes with animal product!

Although Mom’s birthday is three days after mine, this year was the first time I’d taken a PTO day for her birthday as well. Since Mom’s dad’s primary caregiver, one of the best gifts to give her is time away from him. So, I took her to breakfast while a caregiver was with Dad. Yet again, to a restaurant we’ve never eaten at before.

I’d researched breakfast places and was amazed that I’d never noticed it before in one of the newest shopping areas. Mom and I hit the restaurant at the best time, missing the breakfast rush. As a matter of fact, the place was so empty, I spied my favorite hot sauce.

Mom had been so preoccupied by the birthday wishes on her phone, that she reacted as if the hot sauce had magically appeared. So, she sent me to fetch her an inferior hot sauce, but it was her birthday outing.

Although Mom could have ordered a number of breakfast tacos, she only ordered one. Then, throughout breakfast, she said, “You sure won’t get filled up at this place.”

Ms. Smoothies-for-Breakfast was now worried about being full for her morning meal? I think not. Even though she enjoyed her lone taco, she had to find something wrong with the place.

Since I’d taken the whole day off, Mom got another respite day and went to get a mani-pedi. She was beaming with the relaxation of her gift of time for herself. And just like that, another new tradition I’m going to observe for Mom’s birthday!

Newly Minted Deacon

For months, my sister took deacon classes on Saturdays. She read more for that class than I’d seen her do in years.

Finally, the moment arrived for the ordination ceremony. I’d never been to this church before, but I spent more time than I’d expected to spend.

Mom rushed us out of the house 90 minutes prior to the start of the event since she had no idea how long transporting Dad to and from the wheelchair accessible van would take. He’d recently received his wheelchair “cadillac” and none of us had mastered maneuvering it.

The only upside to arriving at the venue far too early was we had a premium choice of handicap parking and once inside the church, we had convenient seats in the back to park Dad.

I’d grown restless prior to the start of the event, which started out with some brief words once the choir sat.

Then the would-be ministers and deacon candidates entered.

Once the candidates sat, the choir sang a moving selection.

Afterwards, I thought the ceremony would begin. Yet, what I thought of as the “ceremony” did not include an actual SERMON by a guest pastor, who was introduced after his wife had an opportunity to say a few words.

Admittedly, I tuned out during the sermon as I usually do in a regular church service. The only part I remember him saying was, “At every level, there’s a new devil.” I don’t think that comes from scripture, but I know from personal experience the truth behind those words.

After the sermon, the presiding minister asked all the candidates to stand together to pray for them. Then, he asked my sister to stand since she was the lone deacon candidate. She confirmed that she was ready to take on her duties. Despite the simple exchange, Dad had wanted to hear her say more.

Once all the candidates were asked to sit in front of the congregation, Mom took that as an opportune time for us to exit. As I attempted to take a final picture of the ordained group, Dad assumed that I wanted his picture as well since he’s never met a camera he didn’t like.

When I asked my sister what she was going to do now that she was an ordained deacon, she flashed her gap-toothed smile and said, “Raise hell.”

70 Years of Fabulous

My ever-youthful aunt turns 70 at the end of July, which was why her surprise birthday party took place at the beginning of July. She thought she was going to a fundraiser. Instead, we raised the roof.

The evening’s lineup was deceptively simple, but like all surprises, involved months of planning and stress from keeping the details away from the notoriously nosey birthday girl, especially when she’d called up random people to guilt trip them about not making any plans for her upcoming milestone birthday.

Since the theme was “Mardi Gras,” the party planner encouraged us to wear purple and masks. My sister and I thought, “No problem!”

She’d just go to the local party store, pick up some masks and that’d be the end of it.

Not so.

The party store was closed due to an older woman driving her car through it. So, our plan B was to make our own masks. Here’s mine:

At least the place setting wasn’t hideous.

Unlike Mom’s side of the family, Dad’s side of the family hardly ever hosts a reunion. We normally get together only for funerals, weddings and birthdays. I only know my first cousins’ children because they resemble them. I managed to catch a few names in passing.

Although my aunt was initially ticked that no one had spilled the beans, she rallied to the cause. Not only did she warm up the dance floor, but kept it hot the whole time with whatever combination of partygoers who happened to join her.

Before retirement, my aunt was a top-of-the-line cake decorator. Her former coworkers/supervisees baked her a superrich yellow birthday cake.

During one of the most sentimental moments of the evening, my cousin told his mother how much she meant to him, his wife and children.

At least he’s known for being a talkative person.

Unlike my aunt’s husband. His tribute to her was not only the most I’d ever heard him speak in one setting, but it nearly brought many of us to tears.

After all was said, danced, and eaten, the group picture-taking began.

Here’s the male cousins’ pose.

Followed by the female cousins’ pose.

More female cousins joined the group and for some reason, my nephew as well.

The last time this side of the family got together was for Dad’s 86th birthday, but we didn’t dare surprise him.

My sister and her husband, had spent a few hours at the beach prior to going to the hotel to get cleaned up to attend the party AFTER the surprise.

Better late and with the better phone camera!

2024 Strange Family Reunion and Juneteenth

For our 83rd reunion, the Strange family incorporated Juneteenth, AKA “Emancipation Day,” decor and history as part of our agenda. Conveniently enough, our reunion fell on the weekend following the United States’ newest federal holiday.

Our reunion spanned Friday through Sunday, starting with Fish Fry Friday. For most of us, it was the first time we’d seen one another since last year.

No matter how much catching up we did, the food, as usual, was the star of the show. This year, Mom led the food line.

While members of the 80s (year-old) Club went through the buffet, I raced around to take pictures of the latecomers and family members patiently waiting their turn at the buffet.

Finally, all the generations ate together. Very delicious food, thanks to the dedicated kitchen staff. In the past, Strange family reunions were a hodgepodge of potluck style covered dishes. There were multiples of the same dish, like five different potato salads.

For many years now, I’ve evolved into a very fast eater, which served me well in this instance. I used more manners than usual since I was in the public of extended family and family friends. Yet, I sped around the shelter to capture as much of the moment as possible.

My sister, who’s a member of both the Strange Family Historical Society and the Strange Marketing team, never missed an opportunity to advertise our family history book and both family calendars–all chock full of information.

A few months prior to last Christmas, I bought an outdated digital camera. Partially because it was inexpensive, but also because there were so many gadgets that came along with the camera, which were all conveniently stored in a cute little backpack.

Originally, I’d bought it to record the Christmas show that I’d written and produced for my family. Yet, for every special occasion, I’ve taken the camera out of its cute backpack and learned how to use a new feature. This time around, I took far more pictures, using the portrait mode.

For several past reunions, members have taken a hayride around some of the Strange property, but I’d never rode. I was determined to go on the practice run on Friday.

I hopped off that practice hayride and continued my quest to capture portraits. At some point, I’ll learn the other settings besides portrait and video, especially to adjust for the amount of background light. But kudos to the patience of my extended family. Added bonus, I managed to jump into a few pictures myself.

For the first time in our family reunion history, we had a s’mores and movie night. Some little ones mistook the inflatable screen as a bouncy house. Originally, we wanted to stream “Miss Juneteenth,” but that location still had unreliable connectivity. Instead, we played a DVD of a movie that was a few years old.

On Saturday morning, the Strange Family shelter transformed from a fish fry venue to a festive Juneteenth celebration.

In addition to the Juneteenth theme, all family members were invited to participate in a pop-up museum, honoring the twelve first freeborn generation of my great grandfather, Jesse Strange.

During the most sweltering part of the day, we gathered under the shelter again for our main reunion program, which consisted of the event call to order, introduction of the emcee, reading of the scripture, prayer, followed by the blessing of the food.

For the second year in a row, vegan family members had their own buffet. For the most part, the rest of us omnivores respectfully stayed away, except I demanded a dollop of Mom’s potato salad. That woman has a superpower when comes to making vegan food taste like the omnivore’s delight.

After eating, we had the lighting of the candle in remembrance of those who had transcended. Then, we listened to some family history that genealogy had uncovered.

My contribution to the program was a Juneteenth powerpoint. Once again, technology nearly stopped the showing of the presentation. Yet, with the help of three cousins and trial and error, we made it work.

Prior to showing the video, my sister and I played the “Miss Mary Mack” hand jive, which most people had heard of, but then I surprised everyone by telling them that its origin was Emancipation. I then explained the symbolism throughout the song that supports the claim.

One of our reunion traditions is recognizing graduates from high school and college along with a monetary gift.

One cousin dreamed that the family should have a flag. So, the Strange Family Association sponsored a flag design contest. To enter the contest, one had to be a dues-paying member, include the 12 colors that represented each branch of the first freeborn generation along with their names, and the SFA logo. Only members who were current with their dues could vote for design one through eight. I was lucky number seven.

The Strange Family Historical Society set up a table to sell our family book and calendars as well as update family member contact information.

Meanwhile some of the younger generations played in the kiddie pool, the playground, volleyball court and basketball court.

For Saturday’s hayride, I recorded the conversation with the oldest living member while another cousin led the group on a short hike to the spring.

Finally, at the very end of the event, they announced the results of the flag design contest. Let’s just say that my design may eventually become a Tshirt.

After sweating throughout the day, I posed with my sisters. Of course, one of our cousins had to jump into the scene.

On Sunday, another cousin gave a sermon under the shelter.

Sunday dinner consisted of leftovers from the past two days along with cold cuts and goodbyes.

Memorial Day Weekend in the Club

In typical Virgo mode, I researched proper adult entertainment club etiquette. The most amusing comments/advice were convincing men that a dancer’s attention was on getting paid, not finding a man. On the other hand, all I wanted to know was a ballpark figure for the least amount of cash I needed on hand. I settled on 40 in $1s, which I raced to the bank after work to obtain. I even bought an inexpensive black fanny pack, expressly to keep all my singles separate from everything else.

Although I no longer pine for vacations as I did when I was a classroom teacher, making an overnight girls’ trip made me giddy. I hadn’t initially realized that this event took place over Memorial Day weekend. The built-in extra day to my weekend was just a cherry on top.

As my friend drove us nearly three hours to the hotel, we discussed dinner plans. She didn’t care for sushi and I didn’t want any national chain restaurants. During that discussion, we passed by a restaurant that reminded me of another dining prohibition: no restaurants with “family” in its name.

Once at the hotel, I showered and changed into an overdressed outfit. Why not? I’d been extra about everything else, concerning this trip.

Besides, we had time to kill since our friend would perform around 11 PM. Plans came together on our way for a pre-dinner drink when we unexpectedly rendezvoused in the hotel bar with our friend.

This was one of the reasons we’d wanted to stay at the same hotel as her. We firmed up plans. She said she’d leave our names at the door, saving us $25 apiece.

I relaxed my rule about going to a national chain since we were merely getting drinks. After all, who can resist a spicy margarita? Turns out, the drink wasn’t nearly spicy enough. Instead of the bartender informing our server that the spicy, sweet and sour mix had run out, they just made the margarita by sprinkling the spice mix into the drink. My friend was NOT fooled.

We finished our drinks, then had dinner at an unofficial family restaurant. That Indian/Nepali restaurant didn’t have “family” as part of its name, but the presence of families whose ethnic background could have been Indian or Nepali was a good sign.

We returned to the hotel to stow our leftovers and freshen up. Although we didn’t want to be too early for the event, we still managed to beat our friend there. Yet, it’s never a dull moment when alcohol and men are in abundance.

As we sat outside the venue, we witnessed a guy who was about to enter the club give the bouncer, a younger man with a larger-than-life, unruly, curly afro, some advice. “If you want other dudes to respect you, cut your hair or cornrow it.”

Upon hearing that, a woman, who spoke like a manager, berated the customer for his advice. The guy explained to her that his advice wasn’t unsolicited, but rather a continuation of a previous conversation where the bouncer had asked him about how to garner more respect.

As I listened to the conversation while pretending to look at things on my phone, I marveled at, no matter the job setting, younger employees need guidance from older employees about how to be professional. AND how out-of-touch management will catch a whiff of something and blow it all out of proportion.

Once our friend showed up, along with her assisting friend, we entered the venue. Our friend and her assistant reported to the dressing room while we approached the cashier. I proudly announced that we were guests of the featured dancer and gave our names.

I’m always in a good mood to be on such a list and wriggled my hips while slowly twirling when the security guy checked me with a metal detector. Still being extra, why stop then?

I didn’t enter like a deer in the headlights, but I gave off newbie vibes. Definitely “not from around here” energy. Even the guy at a nearby table, who only told me that he was from New York, but didn’t tell me his name (and granted, I didn’t ask), knew we were out-of-towners. At one point, our server asked if we were from California. I just smiled, thinking that even she was attempting to flatter us out of our money.

At the top of every hour, “Are You Ready for This” by Jock Jams played, signaling the show special. All the dancers formed a line to parade across the stage in a single file with a shot in their hand while the recording advertised the show special of a private dance and shot for $40.

For the first show special, one dancer approached our table. Perhaps word circulated among the dancers that we weren’t interested and no one else besides our server ever approached our table throughout the night.

By contrast, “New York” paid for innumerable (because I stopped keeping a mental count) lapdances. Initially, I minded my own business, giving “New York” and other lapdance customers privacy, but then, I thought, “What the hell, we’re all still in public.” I reasoned that I was helping them get their money’s worth by watching.

Perhaps my curiosity invited “New York” to ask where we were from and then to ridiculously ask if my friend and I were sisters. Certainly not in the genetic sense, although we shared common interests: former teachers, ethnic food, live cultural events and pole dancing class.

As a matter of fact, all of us who eventually sat at the table were all part of my chair dancing class, including the chair dance instructor, who arrived nearly two hours after we had.

Speaking of that instructor, she was absolutely hilarious as she squirmed while watching some of the pole dancers. I witnessed her inner turmoil as some dancers performed on the pole with flexed feet, knowing that she wanted to scream, “Point your fucking toes!”

Despite Hollywood depictions, the most popular dancers for whom men made it rain money, weren’t the skinny minis, but the voluptuous, had “meat on their bones” women.

Close to midnight, our friend graced the stage in a tricked out Mandalorian costume. She’d persuaded our chair instructor to don a Grogu costume, which I didn’t get a shot of because the DJ had announced late that we were permitted to take pictures.

Once she performed a choreography, she gradually removed the costume and continued performing pole, floor and chair choreography as her assistant discreetly gathered the discarded costuming and props from the stage.

I’ve done some bold things in my life, but couldn’t muster the courage to approach the stage and make it rain money. Neither could my friend. Our solution: shove our money to our chair instructor once she returned to the table.

Since our instructor had tended bar at a similar club, she knew the most practical thing to do was slide the money on the side of the stage so the performer could see it, but not provide an obstacle/hazard on the performance space. I’m sure in the history of club dancing, someone must have slipped on money before.

Besides, as other dancers twerked doggie style for tips and men rained money on their backs, the whole action seemed like a proxy for ejaculation.

I thought that the shoulder stand in the chair would have been the most impressive move my friend executed (since I’d been practicing that move for a month in chair dance class). I was mistaken. She whipped off her top and did a move I didn’t even know women could do.

Call me sexist, but had only seen men make their pecs bounce. Now, imagine a pair of attractively enhanced breasts bouncing up and down not due to “shaking her money makers,” but rather under sheer muscle control. That was the most mind-blowing thing. (Yes, I tried it once I got home. No, I STILL haven’t mastered the way of the Jedi or Mandalorian to make my breasts jump, but long term goals help motivate one out of bed in the mornings.)

Her second performance occurred nearly an hour later. Her assistant spread a tarp on the stage and laid four lit candles in the foreground. Again, she performed a choreography, this time in a flowy costume, complete with fans. Once she’d stripped down to a thong, she blew out a candle and poured the hot wax onto herself. I winced each time she did that, but the move was a clever ruse since men could imagine that was ejaculate. The stage rained money each time she did it.

The Virgo in me appreciated how the tarp made wax/costume/ props/money clean up very efficient.

We returned to the hotel after 3 AM. My friend set her alarm for 10:30 AM. I’d be up once the sun peeked through the curtains.

In the morning, we researched a family-owned breakfast place that was less than five minutes away. As we waited in a short line to be sat, I smiled at the in-house promotion of a dental clinic. In a certain light, one would think that the food was so bad that you needed a trip to the dentist rather than a family member advertising for a relative.

Although I normally have scrambled eggs Monday through Friday, I couldn’t completely escape them, but I tried my best when I ordered the Hobo Breakfast.

Yet, the best breakfast topper was finding a $20 when we were standing in line to pay for our meal. I did the civil thing and asked nearby people if they’d dropped it. Everyone, including the cashier, denied dropping the bill; so, I happily put it in my purse guilt free.

As if spending time with friends out of town and eating at good local restaurants weren’t good enough, when I returned home, I still had another day off. One thing experience has taught me is the importance of having a full day to recover from vacation fun. (And we never once turned on the hotel TV!)

One Beautiful Day

The electricity cut off on a beautiful Friday about a half hour before lunch. When Mom left the house to run errands, she called, telling me that she’d just passed by three utility trucks. At that point, I knew the electricity wouldn’t return for a while.

I’d moved from my home office to a recliner in the den to work on a writing project during the power outage. Once I came to a stopping point, I visited one of my favorite sushi restaurants. Although I was dressed like someone who worked from home and would later work out, I entered like I owned the place.

I ordered one of the lunch specials along with unagi (eel) sashimi. Usually, I’m a very fast eater, not really tasting my food, no matter how delicious it is. I’m tempted to say that I developed this habit when I was a teacher, but I’ve long since exited the classroom. I tried to savor my food, but I probably finished faster than the average person. Afterall, I had a good follow up activity.

About five minutes away, my mani-pedi salon awaited. I’d planned to drop by on Sunday, but when the opportunity presented itself, I took advantage. Although I usually like a nail color that contrasts more with my skin tone, I was in the mood for sparkling gold. Realizing that not all that glitters is gold, I jokingly told the nail tech that I wanted the color to bring me good luck.

At lunch and the nail salon, I could have imbibed an adult beverage. Yet, I saved my drinking for the evening Sip N Stretch class. This was my second time attending the event, but unlike the first time, I’d polished my silver chalice to sip from.

A poet friend had gifted me that chalice years ago. Since then, it had accompanied me to dinner parties, my birthday celebrations and as a practical, fancy way to limit my wine consumption during the COVID shutdown.

I couldn’t have planned the day better. The cherry on top was a short visit from my sister and her family who live out of town. Even though I missed the family dinner since I already had plans, I spent as much time with them as our schedules allowed.

The amount of time, in most cases, is less important than the quality of time. This beautiful day confirmed that notion since I enjoyed nine wonderful hours that involved selfcare and spending time with family and friends.

Celebrations Big & Small

I get a monthly mani-pedi, usually on a Sunday. Not merely for aesthetics, but also for some pampering, which is never a waste of time nor money.

For the first time, at least at this salon, I asked for a glass of red wine. I saw the chill on the wine before she handed the long-stemmed glass to me. The wine was drinkable despite its temperature and perhaps what delighted me even more was how the chair’s cupholder was modified so that the bowl protruded above.

Additionally, I chose red polish with glitter for no particular special occasion other than still being alive and having some life in me. Those are perfectly legitimate reasons to sport party toes.

The following week, my sister and I went downtown to partake in the 4th Friday/Dogwood Festival/her birthday celebrations. With the mainstreet closed, pedestrians freely walked around. We entered a very crowded Italian restaurant.

We shared an appetizer, consisting of baked brussel sprouts with apricot and bacon, and two entrees, pepperoni stromboli and lobster ravioli. All that deliciousness filled us up, leaving half a stromboli to take home. With no room for dessert, we strolled along the main street, where we saw friends, belly dancers, lots of local vendors and spoken word poetry performances.

As the night chilled, we returned to the car. Although we’d kicked off my sister’s birthday, our downtown visit would have still been worth the effort.

The following day, we went out of town to eat at a Black-owned seafood restaurant. On a whim, my sister texted one of her friends from high school, who lived nearby. As fate would have it, this friend was born on the same day as my sister, just a year later.

We had perfect timing. My sister’s friend had returned from her birthday celebration about an hour earlier than when we dropped by for a visit. The last time I’d seen her, I’d hiked around the Grand Canyon. At that time she was unmarried and had no kids. On this visit, I met her husband, and one of her twins.

Some people waste a lot of time, waiting for a special occasion to do wonderful things. I’m glad I’ve long abandoned such an attitude. I look for all the reasons, big and small, to be happy to be alive.

Stretch n Sip

Normally, I don’t drink before a workout, but the whole point of this Friday stretch class was to combine happy hour with fitness. I’d had a “detox/retox” experience before, but never simultaneously!

As what often happens in this town, either nothing special is going on, or EVERYTHING happens during the same weekend. So, I took a half day off, running errands after lunch, swimming and THEN attending this exercise class with alcohol.

While waiting in a slow-moving line, I picked up a local community paper and on the monthly calendar, saw the event:

As usual, I scouted out my spot in the room once I entered. I like being as close to the front as possible. Not just to hear and see what posture the instructor will lead us into next, but also, I’ve developed an aversion to other people’s feet in all my years of doing Bikram yoga.

Next, I perused the selection of wines, which ranged from moscato (yuck) to a more palatable cabernet sauvignon. Tweety and I weren’t having any of the sweet (neither red nor white) or whites, which only left cab.

I nursed that one drink throughout the entire class, which definitely put me in the “lightweight” category. Other women truly embraced the happy hour aspect of the evening. The alcohol didn’t loosen me up, but the mood of the class was comparatively rowdier than usual.

As a matter of fact, humans consuming alcohol made for a livelier class than the stretch class I’d attended with four baby goats. Those kids occasionally bleated throughout the class. On the other hand, with each new posture, a choir of participants were very verbal about their experience.

Especially a woman behind me. She was hilarious. I’m not sure that was merely the effect of alcohol. At one point, she requested that we do the plow position again because she wanted to hook one of her legs around a pole to assist her.

After class, I met my sister and a friend at a restaurant that we’d never tried before. That was another reason I hadn’t refilled my wine glass. I’d wanted to order the hot honey mango margarita, but the restaurant was out. Instead I got a coconut margarita, which wasn’t as good as the one I make at home, but did have the added deliciousness of toasted sliced almonds on top.

I happily used the two cocktail straws as chopsticks to eat the almonds. At the end of dinner, when the server was at the table to help us settle the bill, I misfired with the cocktail straws, causing one to flip up over my head, flinging drink and almonds. No one at the table even saw that. They were all looking at their devices. I couldn’t believe it as I asked them if I had anything in my hair.

As I turned to see if anyone in the booth behind us was reacting to a straw projectile, I spied the straw in the seat between my friend and me. I’d like to credit/dedicate the foolishness of that moment to the spirit of the stretch and sip.

Karl Wayne’s 86th Birthday

For decades, Dad has celebrated his birthday for the ENTIRE month of April; so, of course he was onboard to have a big party this year.

One of my older sisters took care of all the planning for the Saturday early afternoon party and “voluntold” the rest of us what she expected us to do.

Officially, the only two things I was asked to do was make a powerpoint with pictures of Dad throughout his life and pay for half the cost of his birthday cake and cases of water.

Yet, I use any such event to practice my moviemaking skills and to use as blog fodder.

This time around, I recruited my nephew, who after dinner was served, in turn, recruited one of his older sisters, to be a cinematographer.

This worked out perfectly–at least as an improvement to me running around trying to do it all.

At the beginning of the event, I took a picture of everyone as they entered the venue with my iPhone, either before or after they signed in.

In the meantime, my nephew familiarized himself with my antiquated Canon digital camera kit I’d bought myself last Christmas due to its low cost since I wanted to practice with all its accessories.

Although the point of the evening was to celebrate Dad’s life, I wanted to document the event as much as possible.

How many more times will such events happen, especially with all of the elders who were present on that glorious day?

No one really wants to think about that, but it’s important to capture the spirit of the celebration as much as possible.

This birthday celebration was like a mini family reunion, with relatives from both Dad’s and Mom’s side of the family in attendance, along with newer “members” of the family such as Dad’s CNAs.

As a matter of fact, one of Dad’s former CNAs owned the venue and catered the event.

Moreover, my sister’s in-laws even attended after knowing my parents for decades.

What I wanted to capture, both visually and auditorily, were the individuals who attended and how they participated.

Even though everyone signed in, wished Dad well, ate and socialized, what does Dad have left of the event to add to his fading memories?

At least this way Dad can view pictures and videos.

My nephew captured B roll while my niece captured most of the speeches.

When the speeches first began, my niece initially took pictures.

Something told me that when my nephew handed off the camera, that he didn’t tell her to take video.

Although it was second nature for me to capture all the tributes to Dad via video, my spidey senses told me that my niece hadn’t thought of that.

I just chalk it up to another lesson learned.

With every passing event, I feel more prepared to document them.

Nonetheless, without any rehearsal, we managed to pull off a wonderful event.

In addition to discussing a plan of attack with my “camera crew,” we need to tighten up on sitting arrangements and having bottles of water already on the table.

Next time around, we need to be more mindful of our those who used mobility devices.

We even had to make accommodations for Dad to sit at his special table of honor once he arrived in his wheelchair.

Half of the seating were long wooden benches, which challenged the mostly senior crowd.

Although food and drinks were available in the other room, we could have easily set out the small bottles of water on the tables.

After guests stopped pouring in, I abandoned my post to get a cup of lemonade.

Almost on a fluke, I grabbed a few of the small bottles of water and divided half of its contents into two different water glasses.

Soon, I was the only server on duty, circulating around to fill water glasses, starting with our elders.

My sisters, who remained in the other room while all this was going on, still maintained that people could get their own drinks once they came to fix their plates.

What they failed to appreciate was that not everyone was going to fix their own plates and that, at the most, people only had two hands.

I’m not sure how many of these events are in my future, but one thing’s for damn sure, those bottles of water will already be delivered as people arrive.

As a matter of fact, water can be on the sign-in.

At one point, I showed the powerpoint slide show that I’d created.

I’d collected, scanned and arranged over 100 pictures of Dad along with several family members and friends.

I had taken pains to test everything out prior to the day of the event and even tested out the projector, displaying the images against the white curtain background.

Since I’d projected the images from the middle of the room, what I didn’t realize was that the closer the viewer was to the curtains, the more prominent the folds in the curtains interfered with seeing the image clearly.

Yet another lesson learned, but I got around that by texting nearly everyone who attended a copy of the slideshow.

Thank goodness we only had the venue for four hours.

Dad usually takes several naps during that amount of time, but he had so many people to talk to while eating and enjoying the speeches that he never once dozed off.

The following day, after Sunday dinner, Dad opening his gifts, which included lottery tickets.

Dad used to be a numbers and lottery enthusiast, but he hadn’t scratched any tickets since his accident last year.

A really popular gift was money inside of a birthday card. One person gifted Dad a $100 bill, which he promptly tucked into his Gait belt as if he was a dancer. Mom eventually convinced him to give it to her, so she could deposit it with the other birthday money.

As many beautiful cards as Dad received, I was rather surprised that no one had bought the same card as someone else.

Dad had difficulty opening his gifts since his left hand has lost dexterity, but we were so happy that he finally retrieved the two bundt cakes out of the gift box.

With assistance, Dad sported his Air Force Veteran cap and matching hoodie.

For his last gift, a customized pair of socks, I offered to wear them on his behalf. After all, Dad wears compression socks, which they weren’t and who is vain enough to want to wear socks with his own face plastered all over them?

I gave him the birthday card that I’d made for him along with his breakfast on his actual birthday that following Wednesday.

For your viewing pleasure, here’s Dad’s powerpoint tribute: