Category: Special Events

For the first time ever, I made a conscious decision not to add to my immediate family’s cathedral of junk. I googled “non-materialistic Christmas gifts.” From consumables to experiences, I brainstormed what was within my budget.

Initially, I planned to buy the ingredients for baked goods I thought they would enjoy preparing and then consuming. Yet, that would only have been a good idea for fewer than half of my family.

A better gift for one of my sisters and her son was indoor skydiving. That idea blossomed into including my other sister and her family.

I knew my parents, The Octogenarians, would only watch the rest of us make fools of ourselves. Instead, I’d treat my parents to a daytrip to visit a dinner theatre. Over the years, Mom had raved about a dinner theatre that was a few hours away, which she’d attended with her Red Hatters group.

Mom hasn’t been since the pandemic. Dad and I have never attended; so, this would be the perfect opportunity for the three of us to do something special.

The best part: as energized as I felt to provide these experience-based gifts, my sisters and mother were very excited to help plan.

Since one of my nieces was in grad school, the best time for us to go indoor skydiving was on Christmas Eve when all of us were at her parents’ house. Although I arrived at their house around 11 PM, I gathered my nieces and nephew around midnight, technically Christmas Eve, to tell them that their other aunt and I were treating them to indoor skydiving. They were surprised and excited.

My brother-in-law, already in bed when I arrived, had been told. Otherwise, he would have cooked the whole day. Not that I’m complaining. Normally that would have been perfect, but I wanted him to experience flying.

As far as the dinner theatre was concerned, after the holidays was a better, calmer time to schedule that experience.

It’s tempting to make this a family tradition, but knowing me, I’ll research another family experience. Next time, I’ll start earlier.

I took a Friday off to travel with my parents to visit my father’s side of the family. On a rare occasion, we left exactly on time. Of course we left with the usual bickering between my parents, which is more of a sign of a longtime couple who’ve been married for 61 years. I sat in the back with my laptop and cell phone, not feeling the least bit weird of being an adult child relegated to the same position as much younger counterparts.

Our travels went blessedly uneventful until we reached our destination: Langley Air Force Base. Since Dad is retired from the military, we were able to stay in guest quarters on base for one-third of the cost of a commercial hotel. Instead of driving directly to the inn, Mom was absolutely convinced that she had to check in at the gas station across the street from the inn.

I knew that made no logical sense. I figured, “What the hell, I’d taken the day off. Entertain me!” I wasn’t disappointed as Mom asked the first random guy with a long ponytail about checking in at the gas station for accommodations at the inn. I normally use Mom as my example of a person in her 80s who still functions independently, but this was the moment I thought perhaps eight decades on this rock and increasingly taking on more responsibility as Dad’s caregiver may have finally triggered her breaking point.

Ponytail Guy confessed to being a civilian mechanic contractor for only a short time and stated he wasn’t too sure how things worked on base. I thought that was a sweet way of telling Mom she was crazy.

At this point, Mom called the inn, confirmed she’d misunderstood the original directive and drove across the street to check in at the inn. Once checked in, Mom drove us to a second location of the inn, which was about three minutes away, but with a much nicer view.

Of course there had to be another hitch once we arrived at our suite…or rather the door to our suite. The key card didn’t work. This time, it wasn’t Mom being goofy. She called the front desk at the other location and the receptionist sent a maintenance guy to let us into the room with other keys.

I knew I wasn’t going to eat at Golden Corral.

We were so hungry after such a long drive. Even so, when Mom suggested eating at her old favorite, which we frequent many a Sunday, I protested and looked up nearby restaurants. Thank goodness it was open at that time of day. I risked ordering a brisket sandwich. It was far better than the brisket I’d eaten in NC, but still not as good as in TX.

Afterwards, we made a quick trip over to one of my aunt’s house, which served as a central meeting place for all of Dad’s extended family.

Mom and Dad with his two sisters.

One enviable thing about retired people was their flexible schedule. No one cared too much that our arrival ended up being several hours after we thought we’d be there. This was a case of late being better than never. Dad hadn’t seen them in a while, but I hadn’t been to that house since my paternal grandmother had passed.

My uncles, who’d bravely married into the family.

The ultimate plan was for all the retirees to go to the local casino while I hung out with a first cousin who lived nearby. Even though I’d seen him a few months ago in Austin, I’m not a gambler and I’d recently started collaborating with him on a digital animation series, which was loosely based on his life.

As a matter of fact, thanks to this project, I learned that I actually can write screenplays. I think I was too stressed with other things in my life when I took my one and only screenwriting course. Secondly, I started researching TV bibles in order to write one for this series. Why has it taken this long to discover this storytelling pitching tool? Again, better late than never.

Morning view from my room.

Those retirees gambled into the night much longer than I would have originally thought they would have. Casinos must have perfected the fountain of youth atmosphere while people are gambling. Nonetheless, I slept well and woke up early enough to do morning stretches and writing before meeting my sister and her family and a cousin for breakfast…well, lunch by the time everything was said and done.

Our long awaited table.

All I can say is that I’m so happy I ate a banana prior to going to the restaurant. Not eating wouldn’t have “saved” my appetite. My sister and her family joined us in Hampton from their VA beach vacation. Our cousin merely had to escape his bed because he lived in Hampton. As a matter of fact, he didn’t even have to endure the nearly hour’s wait for a large table.

Post lunch group picture.

Again, I appreciated the fluidity of everyone’s schedule. My parents, sister, brother-in-law and I continued to the same aunt’s house after lunch. Part of the appeal was that my paternal grandmother had lived there in the last years of her life. The warmth of the memories made it feel like the “home house,” as we say.

Dad’s only living brother.

At 84, Dad is not only the oldest living brother, but the only one who’s reached that age. His older sibling passed at a younger age. Compared to Dad, that uncle seemed as if he was taken away from us too soon. All the fresh laughter from his antics are no longer with us. Even Dad’s younger twin brothers passed due more to life in the fast lane than age.

The four living siblings out of seven.

In a way, this trip was a mini family reunion. Hurricane Ian had delayed our visit by a week, but in the big scheme of things, that delay was worth our safety.

First attempt to get just the aunts.

I grew up thinking that Dad’s side of the family wasn’t too close, compared to Mom’s. After what I know now about the struggle being real, even after umpteen years of Emancipation, Civil Rights and every other movement in this country to bring us to the full expression of first class citizenship in our own country, I now think that so much energy was instead invested in survival.

Finally, a picture of just my aunts.

Now that this generation has retired, they can stop and smell the roses and enjoy a better life. They’ve definitely earned it. The closest permutation of me retiring will be working from home like I’m doing right now.

Of course Mom had to get in the mix.

I may not be the first generation who didn’t do better or as well as their parents, but the game has changed. I don’t want to blame that all on Nixon taking the dollar off the gold standard to pay for Vietnam, but that didn’t help.

The other spouses join in.

What also didn’t help was my passion lie in doing creative things such as teaching, writing, painting…pretty much everything which guarantee that it’ll be a long shot, even in good times, to make much money. Too bad I can’t monetize “rich in personality.”

Mother/son picture.

At the same time, now that I’m middle aged, I’m saving for whatever retirement is going to look like. Some days at work, I consider myself semi-retired when I have less work to do for the same pay. That’s the direction I’d love to move into. The biggest jump will be working for myself like I did in the before times. I had a good run with that while it lasted. At the end of the day, I’m not an entrepreneur. That’s not a good thing in a country known for such strong capitalistic ways.

Cousins and Aunt

I may not be able to control my work schedule, but I’ve already planted the seed to work reduced full time, Monday through Thursday. Oh, all the wonderfully creative things I plan to do, besides running errands and doing chores! It’s so tantalizing. I find it unbelievable that when other people retire, they feel lost because they were their jobs. As for me, I cannot usually find enough time in the day to do everything I want to do unless it’s on the weekends. Having an extra weekend day would just boost that.

Mom and my sister jump in.

At this point, I have conceded that I’ll never be in the position to retire. The best I can do is stop and smell the roses along the way. This weekend was just a taste of the possibilities of a three-day weekend.

Playmate cousin when growing up.

I’d heard more stories about my father’s side of the family than ever before. Not only am I old enough to ask the questions, I’m mature enough to listen and appreciate the answers. And for things that happened when I was alive, I marvel at which parts of the shared memory we’d all tucked away inside of us, only to bring those pieces out when we get together to see what the big picture would be.

The James River Bridge.

This sight always reminded me of the beginning and the end of visiting my Hampton relatives. Since Mom can’t swim, but does most of the driving, she makes record time across it. Her (ir)rationale was she wanted to minimize her time on the bridge just in case it collapsed and put her at risk of having to swim. I’ve never bothered asking her how she’d survive the collapse long enough to hit the water. Happy to report, just like all the other times, there was no collapsed bridge.

For this Fourth of July celebration, I made three new friends…a couple and their dog. Our mutual friend had extended the invitation because the couple were relocating to NC at the beginning of August. Since I’m from NC, I gave them the inside scoop even though it had been decades since I lived in the Tar Heel state.

As fate would have it, I arrived before my other friends had, despite the fact that I’d left home later than I’d intended. Nonetheless, I whipped out a bottle of pre-made watermelon/cucumber margarita and became instant friends. Once the drinks were poured, one of the party hosts escorted me to the fabulous backyard.

I made a beeline to the hibachi grill.

I told them that my family has had a hibachi grill since before I was born and that they still use it. I texted one of my sisters a picture of their hibachi grill and asked if she could text a picture of our family grill. I was not prepared for what I saw.

Battle-worn, our family hibachi has given a lifetime of delicious barbecue.

A year or two older than me, our hibachi showed its age far worse than me. For some reason, all those cracks reminded me of how my body was riddled with injuries and inflammation. My sister told me that our parents will replace that grill with one of the newer models.

Can’t overstate how refreshing this pool was.

We experienced typical triple-digit heat, which made the coolness of the pool that much more inviting. What amazed me was that our hosts were so good at drinking while lounging in the pool, they spilt nary a drop of their microbrew in the pool.

They were so enthusiastic about their microbrew that I had a taste. All I can say is that if Pale Ale actually tasted that delicious mass-produced, then I would be a beer drinker. I told them that they’d have to share some bottles with my parents when they visited, in exchange for Mom’s tomato-based home-brew recipe.

I know I shouldn’t volunteer her services, but by the time the visit takes place, perhaps she’ll have consulted other family members about the recipe. I’m not actually sure if she’s ever made it herself. The last time I tasted it, I was around eight years old. I’d be interested in persevering that and our moonshine recipe as well.

This year, I had the pleasure to resume my volunteer duties with the George Washington Carver Museum for their Juneteenth celebration. Although I didn’t reprise my historical character interpretation as Freewoman Mattie Gilmore, I was so happy to be in the mix for the morning shift. Afterwards, I attended one of the genealogical workshops.

A poster-sized pedigree chart was prominently displayed as soon as I walked into the Genealogical Center.

I didn’t fill out my A4-sized genealogy chart, not for my mother’s side of the family at least because so many of my relatives have researched that side of the family. As a matter of fact, I’d like to interview one of my cousins, an ancestor hunter, to learn how she uncovered so much family history and apply that knowledge to my father’s side of the family.

Up until recently, 1865 seemed like such a long time ago.

Two years ago I realized that I was merely the third generation of freeborn Black. The dominant narrative had convinced me that slavery was so long time ago that it had no relevance to what’s going on today. Yet, the struggle for freedom continues as recent political events have proven that one’s rights can be stripped at any time.

Since neither side of my family is from Texas, I was more interested in a general search.

Simultaneously, there appeared to be a lot of information available and very little instruction about how to access it. The journey to uncover one’s ancestors seemed very daunting to begin.

Plus there’s the emotional work of viewing records like these.

Back when Black people were considered property, enslavers kept an inventory of their human assets. As a matter of fact, due to political negotiations, Blacks were only considered three-fifths of a person, not as an acknowledgement of our inherent humanity, but so enslavers could have more representation in Congress based on population. The legacy of Black people only being valued when we serve another’s purpose continues today.

There was a delay telling Texas slaves they were free and a longer delay in federal recognition of Juneteenth.

Whether an event “has been a long time coming,” or “has happened too fast” is a matter of perspective. For former slaves, many generations had suffered the egregious institution while former enslavers thought emancipation “all at once” didn’t adequately prepare free people to learn how to be citizens–as if a continuation of slavery machinations would ever prepare an individual for full autonomy.

A mere three months after the preliminary emancipation, it was business as usual in the Texas slave trade.

This advertisement is a reminder that slaves weren’t just valued for the forced, uncompensated labor they performed, but their bodies as well. Although this advertisement talked about Blacks who were living at the time, deceased Blacks were often sold as cadavers for medical schools.

I love the optimistic phrase “Forever Free.”

One thing I’ve learned is that freedom is only “forever” as long as you’re willing to actively remain free. Those with far more resources always want to subjugate the masses for their own power and profit.

Our genealogy presenter stated that to understand slavery, one must understand The Middle Passage.

The Middle Passage consisted of ships that brought Africans across the Atlantic Ocean to be sold to enslavers who wouldn’t dare pick their own cotton and other harvests. The Amendments shown were ratified to abolish slavery, grant citizenship and equal protection under the law, and give the right to vote–to all men. Depending on one’s demographic, your freedom may not be expanded with the addition of a new amendment.

Finding Black ancestors in 1870 poses special challenges.

The same person may have multiple spellings of their name for a variety of reasons. Primarily, enslaved people weren’t legally allowed to be literate, so they couldn’t double check the spelling of their own name. They may have changed their surname to distance themselves from slavery. Marital conventions may have changed a woman’s surname.

Our presenter recommended this Juneteenth summary video.

I sent the link to several family members and friends to help spread the knowledge. After all, this was one of the newest federal holidays. Many people claimed that they hadn’t heard of it before then.

Before these books are banned from the library, I plan to read them.

How ironic that slaves were unable to attend school and now there’s a movement to do away with books.

No presentation is complete without a resource section.

At some point, I’m going to do a deep dive about the traditional way to celebrate Juneteenth since I didn’t grow up observing it.

Real support goes beyond performative actions.

One of the ways to support the Black community, is by supporting Black-owned businesses. Conversely, Black-owned businesses need to help be a solution within Black communities. They don’t have to solve everything, but at least something.

J. Mill was still on stage when I finished the genealogy workshop.

No matter how good this group was, they performed on an outside stage during triple-digit temperatures. One of the few times I broke out in a sweat at a concert where I remained seated.

Next up were African drummers.

By some African drum magic, the woman who led this group enticed many of us in the audience to get up in that heat and do some simple steps. No one tried to hurt themselves. The symbolic dance signified looking for a partner, then planting the seeds, providing water/nurture, then harvesting the crop/reaping the benefits.

I arrived at my second volunteer gig pre-sweaty.

I felt dressed down compared to some of the other members, especially members of the board. Fortunately, other volunteers were similarly dressed as me. We were all sweaty regardless.

Anatomically inspired jewelry meets snark.

One of our raffle prizes was a piece of jewelry from this artist. I never learned which piece, but the raffle was a success. I was amazed the ease at which I upsold the $20 for 30 raffle tickets offer. Granted this was a fundraising event, but the downside was I had to count out 30 frigging raffle tickets!

I discovered another use for the decorative film ribbon.

All I can say is too bad I hadn’t thought of this sooner. Despite the late addition to my updo, I inspired two other women to add film ribbon to their hair.

I’d spent the longest day out in about, volunteering for two worthy causes. Since both events provided food, all I needed to do once I came home was take a long overdue shower and relax.