A year ago, I was living a very different life in Austin, TX. Although I had a decent full-time job with benefits, where I was paid every other week, I considered one paycheck mostly for rent and the other for all the other things I needed/wanted. In other words, I was in my least favorite financial place, living paycheck to paycheck without any end in sight.
Now with my parental subsidy, I have a “savings.” Not a nest egg. More like some cash ready to pay next month’s bills.
There’s always the hope of a trivial side hustle making it big. The twin reality: not quitting my day job any time soon. Nonetheless, I enjoy the small happy moments as they come.
Case in Point: I had the bright idea to call a nail salon, banking on the chance that they weren’t celebrating Independence Day. Lo and Behold! that paid off.
Not only did the receptionist tell me to come in within 15 minutes, but as I waited in the lobby for about three times that amount of time, I had the luxury of talking to my writer partner/friend.
Usually, I don’t take the time to talk with her for hours, in the middle of the day, during a week day. Yet this Independence Day found me free from the burdensome schedule of the 9 to 5. As I received a relaxing mani pedi, my friend talked with me during the entire time, including the drive there and back.
By the time I returned home, I was famished. Between my sister’s and Mom’s cooking, a meal fit for a queen awaited: ribs, sausage, string beans, and potato salad. I could have piled even more food on my plate, but saved something for dinner.
Afterwards, we piled into the car to run an errand before visiting Dad at rehab. I was like a well-fed baby who could barely stay awake once the car started moving. I kept dozing off.
By the time we arrived at Dad’s, I was groggy, but happy to have caught him during one of his physical therapy sessions. He was shaky on his legs, but I loved seeing him take a few steps at the tail end of his workout. He was tired.
Everyone except for Dad were dressed for the holiday. He was immersed in his own world, above all the hoopla. He generally feels like he’s in a prison because he’s been cooped up for so long. Yet, he’s free from all the hype.
In the end, I enjoyed my Tuesday day off. The only fireworks I saw were on TV from the comfort of home. Next day, back to the grind. Glory hallelujah!
Making the best of a challenging situation, we revived our usual Sunday dinner at the rehab facility where Dad continued to convalesce. Mom made mac and cheese, greens, and deviled eggs. My sister picked up fried chicken and bought plates, utensils, cups and lemonade. For my part, I made naturally-dyed red velvet cupcakes, using a recipe I’d made once before, using a large beet as a natural source of the red dye.
Dad’s Only Smile while Eating His Cupcake
Dad had longed to break free of rehab and return home for weeks. We told him the same thing: he cannot return home until he can walk.
Too Busy Chewing to Smile
Although he’d made progress, we celebrated at rehab where the architecture accommodated the wheelchair with caregivers who helped transition him between the wheelchair and bed. Mom has said for years that she wanted a “ranch-style” house with everything all on one level.
Now there may be a solution. Mom has looked into military housing that will accommodate wheelchairs, walkers and other mobility supports. That would get Dad out of the rehab sooner because he’d have to walk as he was doing before to return to their actual home. I’d like to think of that military housing as a halfway house for Dad. At the same time, Dad may not like going to strange place that still isn’t home.
My parents have had their timeshare since the early 80s, but I hadn’t joined them on their beach vacation for years. Although the residence was showing its age, they’d recently done some renovations to modernize the place. The most notable was the zigzag ramp, which greatly helped shuffle our belongings from the car to the elevator with a dolly.
Vacation Libations
The room wasn’t ready by the time we arrived. Fortunately, by the time we’d loaded two dollies full of luggage, supplies and food, the room was ready, but we didn’t have a room keycard. Mom, who can’t walk as well as she used to, called the office and asked if her daughters could pick up the keycard, using her ID.
Shell-Blinged Jellyfish
One of the benefits of being a long-term timeshare owner was that they knew Mom even without the ID. My sister and I went down to get four keycards although I was almost sure that my nephew wouldn’t need his own.
Angelic-Looking Jellyfish
If I ever had control over my own schedule again, I’d love to begin my day with either a swim or a walk. Actually the last time I had control over my schedule, I attended a midday yoga class to break up my morning and afternoon blocks of work.
Frilly Jellyfish w Sea Foam
Beach combing for shells every morning definitely checked that box, especially since I like getting some form of daily exercise even when on vacation. Since my sister is an art teacher, she uses the shells in various projects.
Sea Foam Arced Jellyfish
Nonetheless, being out in nature while exercising are their own rewards. Plus, I get to hang out with my sister in a totally different setting than watching TV in the den. Half the time when I remark on something that was just shown, she would have already fallen asleep.
Although the premise was shell collecting, our turnaround point was always the pier in the distance. Whatever shells were collected from that excursion were the quota for the morning. To make things official, we’d touch the pier then turn on our heels and trek back.
Sea Foam Crowed Jellyfish w Shell
On the first outing, I shot a collection of jellyfish. My sister, who has apparently watched enough horror movies for a lifetime, marveled at how close I squatted the the subjects to compose the shots. Her paranoia was that one of them would make a sudden move to attack me.
Jellyfish w Understated Setting
As attractively as I shot the pictures, I still cropped them to capture something of the individuality of each jellyfish. There was absolutely no way I could know the personality of even one jellyfish, but relying on my understanding of genetic variation, something, even if on a genetic level, must be unique to each jellyfish.
Jellyfish w Busy Setting
Instead, I used the variations found in the setting, the shadows, tentacle position, and occasionally the coloring of the medusa to distinguish among the animals.
Red-Rimmed Medusa Jellyfish
One woman beat me to a jellyfish. I’d wanted her to not disturb it before I could take its picture lying washed ashore. She misinterpreted me asking her to stop by informing me that she wouldn’t sting herself. I told her that I wanted to take its picture, so she held it out for me to shoot before she tossed it back into the ocean, which I thought was an unnecessary act.
Do-gooder w Jellyfish
That was just a gut feeling on my part though. I didn’t know the lifecycle of jellyfish, but I did know that, despite their name, they weren’t fish. So they don’t have to concern themselves with getting oxygen from gills. In other words, they weren’t “fish out of water.”
Red-Rimmed & Marbled Medusa Jellyfish
I later confirmed my gut feeling about those beached mollusks. Although they start dying while they are out of the sea, they are hardier out of water than fish. Dead jellies can still sting, but the do-gooder had carefully picked it up by the medusa. Even if it were already dead, some other marine animal would make a meal out of it.
Jellyfish w Shadow
As we collected shells every morning, I couldn’t help thinking about who was going to love the broken shells. Of course, I was really thinking about flawed individuals and not really inanimate objects. That’s one of the beauties of vacationing…thinking of dreamy things while temporarily out of the daily grind.
Jellyfish w Sundries
As far as Mom was concerned, being on vacation essentially means doing her two favorite things in another setting: cooking and shopping. Not that I’ll ever complain about her cooking, but she initially thought that we weren’t going to dine at a seafood restaurant while in a beach town. She was swiftly out voted.
New Sandals w Jellyfish
Normally, I don’t care one bit about shopping. As a matter of fact, I hadn’t planned to buy anything while on vacation other than food, but my first beach walk proved to me that the new sandals I’d bought for just that activity couldn’t handle the terrain. The sand, whether wet or dry, tugged at my cute sandals a little too much. On all other terrain, they did fine. When I saw a pair of knockoff Tevas on sale, I bought a pair for myself and my sister. That strap around the back made all the difference.
Expert Beach Comber
On my last day, I saw an impressive humanmade beach scene. At the rate our environment is being slammed, I won’t be too surprised when giant turtles start attacking buildings.
Turtle Storming the Castle
Someone created my favorite sculpture after I left. My sister, who stayed twice as long as me, gifted me the picture. I’d talked about several starfish washed up on a Mexican beach once when I visited. At least this sculpture answered the question of who will love the broken shells.
On days like these, the most authentic restaurants don’t care about cultural appropriation. Not that I attempted to dress or act like anything else that who I was: a hungry person who also drinks.
My Mango Margarita
We stood outside with the rest of the customers who waited for tables. The restaurant had placed all of us on a digital wait list that allowed everyone to monitor their place in line and lapsed waiting time. Not only was it entertaining to watch us move up the list, but the app eliminated the need to wait in an actual line.
My Sister’s Mango-Dragonfruit Margarita
Instead, we all clustered outside on the sidewalk, which ran the length of the shopping center. As engaged as I was reading on my phone, monitoring the digital queue, talking with my sister and low-key people watching, I’ll confess that I was hyper-vigilant for anyone ready to blow people away for whatever hate-filled reason.
The Shots Dude
Another day in the mass shooting epidemic in the US. I can’t stop living because of possible threats, but when guns are far more protected than people, I cannot help but develop some paranoia, especially when I’m in a huge crowd of people of color.
A Shy Guy?
Happy to announce that the only thing that was killed were the libations. Note to self: I can no longer drink a tall margarita!
Of Course Not!
I saved the shot for the next day. No need to waste good alcohol on pushing me further into inebriation. I appreciated the shot more by waiting the next day. That’s the middle age logic coming through.
Dessert
As a matter of fact, since I believe in leftovers, I enjoyed the other half of my Mexican dinner prior to attending “Jelly’s Last Jam,” which was the start of another culturally-filled evening.
Holiday Yard Display
The cost of all three of our tickets would have been the cost of one ticket back in Austin. There’s no culture jumping out at you here in Fayetteville, but once the surface is scratched, it’s a less expensive endeavor. That savings will come in handy for funding my own projects.
For one day a year, many people in the US celebrate Irishness, even if the religious basis of the observation should give one a moment of pause. Besides, we Baptists weren’t exactly a part of the conflict.
Nonetheless, I seized on the opportunity to hang out with a friend at an Irish restaurant where neither one of us had ever been. My usual Friday night plan involves swimming a half mile after work, a relaxing way to end the week.
My kilt-wearing “Black Irish” bartender
The restaurant opened two hours earlier than usual for the special occasion. I thought we’d have trouble finding a parking space and table, but there was plenty of surrounding lots AND the bulk of the crowd hadn’t shown up before sunset. After clearing security, which included a walk through a metal detector and a manual search through my fanny pack by the bouncer, we walked around and got the feel of the place.
Smoky Old Fashioned
Although they normally have trivia night on Thursdays, they postponed it a day to be part of the celebration. Just added to the craziness, but perhaps that was what they wanted. My friend and I laughed at how bad we were at trivia despite being avid readers. We by-passed the trivia room.
A Different Kind of Religion
We ordered our food and had no problem finding a table. The only glitch was ordering drinks. I’m not normally a beer drinker, but I got a Guiness while my friend got a strawberry margarita, which I thought was an unusual choice for an Irish pub. Nonetheless, my kilt-wearing Black Irish bartender put on such a show, making that margarita from fresh fruit that the guy beside me had to ask what the bartender was making.
Another bartender making a smoky old fashioned captured my attention. I don’t normally drink them, but the presentation alone enticed me to ask my friend to order me a smoky old fashioned when she went up to buy the second round.
Lipstick-Wearing Leprechaun
Once upon a time, half my closet back in Austin was full of costumes. It pained me to donate the vast majority of my stash when I moved. On rare occasions such as this celebration, I miss being able to walk into my closet and throw a costume together. I was fortunate to find a green sweater.
Still I posed with the best dressed costume wearers. The person wearing the leprechaun costume really impressed me. The entire evening, I made several admiring comments to my friend about the leprechaun’s costume and how dark “her” facial paint was up until I asked “her” for a picture.
The leprechaun’s voice and hands were unmistakable male. That was when I remembered that every leprechaun depiction I’d ever seen had been male. Then, I was preoccupied with how they reproduce if they’re all male. Don’t care in the least that they’re magical beings. Even magic has logic to it.
Folklore suggested that leprechauns were the unwanted children of fairies. Of course that intrigued the hell out of me since the world over values boys over girls. So, what is it about fairy parents that would abandon their baby boys? This is precisely the type of academic research that’ll preoccupy my mind.
Often, I say that such a rabbit hole adventure will be used later in some future written work. In truth, the joys of literacy and a curious mind means that I’ll keep boredom at bay. Perhaps this time of year will inspire me to learn more about Celtic folklore as part of my celebration.
A few weeks ago, one woman in my creative writing group asked what the rest of us were reading. Since I usually have at least one audiobook and at least one e-book going at the same time, I added all their book titles to my ever-growing booklist.
One was To Speak for the Trees by Diana Beresford-Kroeger. I had no idea at the time that the story took place in Ireland. Without even trying, I added more to my St. Patrick’s Day observance than ever before. As of late, I’m happy to access as much as I can before public library books start being banned.
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.
Typically, a Thanksgiving post would show the actual meal, either with or without all the people gathered around. So, even though all that traditional stuff happened, my niece, nephew and I did something untraditional as an edible project, which involved good old-fashioned trial and error. We made Margarita Jello Shots.
Last month, my niece and I had made Strawberry/Orange Jello shots, using orange hulls as our containers. From that experience, I knew we needed handheld juicers to make the process easier.
Time-saving Juicers
With the juicing step simplified, we still fumbled when removing the pulp with a spoon. My niece gave up the effort sooner than I did. After googling the challenge, she read that we should turn the juiced lime hulls inside out. My first instinct was to push my thumb against the center. That worked like a charm except that my thumb went through the center. On my second attempt, I worked my thumb and fingers around the hull’s edge to turn it inside out. That worked very well, keeping the hulls intact.
Jello-Filled Hulls
Continuing the scientific-method journey, I originally placed the empty lime hulls in a rectangular plastic tray. I thought that with the hulls packed in together, they’d support one another once they were filled. I was mistaken. Those hulls became less stable and tipped to the side, spilling some of the contents.
Then I recalled the last time we’d made shots. I’d filled a mini muffin tray with leftover liquid jello. That didn’t turn out well either, but this time around, I used the pan to stabilize the hulls. With the hulls firmly in place, I quickly filled them and put the tray in the mini fridge in the den. We drank the leftover Jello like the cocktail it was.
Jello Slices
I originally thought we’d sample the shot after Thanksgiving dinner. Wrong again! After breakfast on Thanksgiving morning, I brought up the tray to slice the hulls in half. People were game to try them then. Normally, I wouldn’t have alcohol quite that early, but I figured someone was probably having a breakfast cocktail somewhere.
Although Mom wasn’t hosting Thanksgiving dinner, she made about half the sides, including sweet potatoes. Instead of garnishing them with marshmallows, Mom made a delicious sauce made of rum, brown sugar, cinnamon, and vegan butter. She put the leftover sauce in a container, inviting me to make a drink out of it.
Sweet Potato Garnish
The first thing that came to mind was mulled wine. When I looked up the ingredients, Mom’s sweet potato sauce wasn’t too far off the mark. I’d just have to add a few more ingredients and warm up the entire concoction.
An Orange and Spices
Our kitchen is always stocked with fresh fruit and whole spices. I sliced an orange and added it, along with whole cloves and a few cinnamon sticks to Mom’s sauce in a pot.
The Fresh Ingredients
Since I worked on Black Friday, I texted all the women in the family, who’d gone out together like a shopping pack of she wolves, to pick up an inexpensive bottle of Malbec. That was the only ingredient we didn’t already have enough of. I always have boxed Malbec, but I didn’t want to sacrifice my stash.
The Added Alcohol
“Inexpensive” is a relative term. I was pleased with the Malbec selection someone had chosen. I sacrificed the entire bottle for the mulled wine, along with a quarter cup of peach brandy.
With the Malbec Added
I continued stirring the concoction slowly on low heat. The point was to warm the brew, not to boil it. Too much heat would have burned off the alcohol, defeating part of our purpose.
With the Brandy Added
Compared to the Jello shots, mulled was very easy to make. My nephew held a strainer over a measuring cup as I slowly poured the wine. Once the measuring cup was full, my nephew then poured the wine into the mugs. We repeated that process until all the wine was strained and poured into mugs. I divided the orange slices and cinnamon sticks into the mugs.
My Mug of Wine
The mulled wine was delicious and I had the added bonus of using the cinnamon stick as my drinking straw. Although we had mulled wine on Black Friday night, it tasted more like Christmas. At least it didn’t feel “too soon.”
My sister invited me to participate in the Trunk or Treat activity at the church where we attend. I’d never heard of it before, but apparently it’s been going on for a while…to the extent that there are costumes to deck out one’s car that can be bought online. Of course. Halloween is my favorite holiday, but this past celebration was bittersweet because I’d donated all my costumes before relocating, so I couldn’t just throw something together for this event.
Plus, in my mind, I’m still in the process of getting settled. It’s more than simply unpacking my things. I’ve passed many a day stuck in rumination, so I hardly gave more than a passing thought about this activity. My sister and I even went shopping for some decorations a few weeks prior to the event, but nothing really clicked since I thought she was simply using my car to run her own Trunk or Treat activity.
As we got closer to the event, I’d brainstormed “Musical Pumpkins,” played like Musical Chairs except instead of walking around chairs as music played, kids would pass small pumpkins around in a circle until the music stopped.
In order to get a better idea of how we’d run our own Trunk or Treat, we visited another such activity at a school the week before.
Ever so popular Mario Brothers
The Haunted Cemetery
Or was it a portable haunted house?
More Mario Brothers
Skeletal Remains
Pumpkin Patch
Candyland
Spiderwebs & Pumpkins
The Nightmare Before Christmas
We didn’t participate in a single game and as far as getting candy. My highbrow self didn’t care for any of that cheap stuff. If I was going to challenge my prediabetic status, it might as well been with the good candy. In the end, I accepted a fun size pack of peanut M & Ms. Peanuts are nutritional. Besides, there were only five or six pieces. Nothing too bad to make my left eye throb…my internal monitor that there’s too much sugar in my blood.
Musical Pumpkin Patch
My sister bit off far too much. I knew that she was in charge of the event, but I hadn’t realized how much she’d signed off to do rather than delegating the work. In addition to decorating my trunk for Musical Pumpkins, she decorated two other trunks; had chopped onions in two different styles for the hamburgers and hot dogs; provided games for other people; had made a game out of styrofoam and a cardboard box; and circulated around the event, which was held in the church parking lot. In other words, I was left alone to run my activity.
Pumpkin Ghost Game
My sister had put a lot of effort into making the Pumpkin Ghost game, but turned out that no one needed it. I took it off her hands. The objective was simple: manipulate the box to place the three balls, which were painted to look like Jack ‘O Lanterns, into the three indentations, which were the ghost’s mouth and eyes. The dexterity needed to place all three balls into the indentations eluded most of the little kids, who wildly jerked the box around. The preteens to teenagers got it although I had to reset the balls in the middle of the styrofoam because they’d get stuck along the edges.
Dad playing Pumpkin Ghost
As hokey as Pumpkin Ghost was, I found that I became too invested while watching the kids manipulate the box. Without thinking, I’d be all up in the box myself before recovering and taking a few steps back. Even parents complimented me for such a simplistic, yet engaging game.
For some of the little kids, I encouraged them to try for at least one ball, so I could reward them with a piece of candy. The older kids walked away with at least two or three pieces of candy.
Nighttime View
I could have easily left long before the sun went down, but darkness brought out the beauty of the lights. I believe next time, Trunk or Treat will be held earlier in the day. If asked to participate, I will order a car decoration and have a matching costume!
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.
It’s older than I am. We were both brought back from Okinawa, Japan the second time my family was stationed there with the Air Force.
When my sister took the rainproof cover off the hibachi, a slew of cockroaches scattered. The last time the grill had been used was during the Fourth of July celebration, so the cockroaches had holed up during the rains between then and Labor Day weekend. Had I never been a Peace Corps Volunteer, those roaches may have turned me off from eating anything grilled on this hibachi. Yet I know better. First of all, the heat alone would kill anything that may be harmful. Moreover, we always clean the grill.
My sister assumed the grillmaster position.
About two years ago, she took over grillmaster duties from our father, who turned 84 this past April. Mom and Dad had a system: she seasoned the meat and he’d grill it. Now, Mom and my sister both season the meat and my sister grills it. I love how the grillmaster prepared for the occasion with her sun hat, a fly swatter, all the grilling implements and her smart phone. My contribution to the production was cleaning off the patio table and chairs before I dashed off to dance class.
The fruits of our collective labor.
Although the grillmaster had cooked ribs, chicken and steak, we saved the steaks for Sunday. Nonetheless, I was perfectly happy with my dinner. The only spoilers were the flies. I didn’t remember flies being such a nuisance when I was a child, eating outside on the patio. We ate dessert inside.
Before the next time I clean off the patio furniture, I’m going to research how to remedy the flies. I’m especially interested in rigging up a clear plastic ziplock bag half full of water and a few pennies. Allegedly that thwarts flies. I’d like to test that hypothesis. I just have to figure out how to rig it up. And find some pennies. Who still deals with cash, much less coins?
