I jumped at the chance to hang out with a handful of friends for Juneteenth, which, conveniently enough, landed on a Friday.
One of the perks of working for myself is that I can take a half day. The morning started off with the usual routine: breakfast, work, yoga.
Then I hopped in my car, picked up lunch and dessert and headed over to my friend’s house. Even though I whipped off my Wakanda-decorated mask once the above picture was taken, I wanted to document how different this Juneteenth celebration was.
Since a week before the official shelter-in-place announcement, I’d ordered from a local restaurant once a week,
not just to support those businesses, but also to have a sense of a “weekend.” One restaurant, threw in four free plastic tumblers with my drink order. I saved them for the first person who’d invite me to their place for a celebration. I also brought over novelty (and cheap) blue tequila and some red velvet cupcakes. Red foods for Juneteenth signifies, among other things, the blood of the slaves.
After gobbling down my sushi tuna salad, I took advantage of the hammock.
I knew about the pool prior to my visit, but since I’d planned to view a virtual celebration,
I didn’t want to get sucked into the lazy daze of a swimming pool.
As usual, my capoeira teacher (on the right) was the last to arrive,
but at least I finally had a chance to meet his girlfriend, who, like me, was a Returned Peace Corps Volunteer. In the brief time of our acquaintance, I managed to tell her about three of my Peace Corps “war stories.”
Such a beautiful day, one would never know that we were still in the throes of a pandemic.
As a matter of fact, Texas was one of the states where coronavirus rates were increasing. We all used the honor system of sheltering in place, taking precautions and no one experiencing any symptoms.
This was truly the poster child for “no more fucks to give”
—at least for the moment! By looking at this picture, no one would ever appreciate how much trouble he went through to position the doughnut float into the hippo float’s mouth, so he could be elevated enough to drink.
I taught everyone the “proper” way to eat a cupcake.
First, peel all the paper from the cupcake. Then, break off the bottom half and place it on top of the frosting. Finally, enjoy your cupcake frosting sandwich! I’m so happy no one had their camera out when I was eating one. I inhaled mine so quickly that I looked as if I hadn’t eaten lunch first.
As relaxing as this visit/celebration was, I had to say good bye to the pool partyers.
Although I didn’t grow up celebrating Juneteenth, I’ve observed it since moving to Austin and volunteering at the George Washington Carver Museum.
Several of us played historical characters who were previously enslaved in Texas. Our lines came from narratives that were collected in the 1930s of interviews of the former slaves.
Before I had the opportunity to tune into the virtual Juneteenth celebration, many businesses, who’d never shown any interest in either speaking out against systemic racism nor letting me know about the celebration, had emailed me information about it. One big business after another declared Juneteenth to be a business holiday.
Juneteenth’s Saturday takeout was from a historically black-owned business district that’s slowly disappearing due to gentrification and imminent domain.
And like many streets across the US, this one had been painted over to reflect that black lives matter.
I just hope fatigue doesn’t set in long before the paint fades.
Never one to miss an opportunity to dress up, I celebrated “May the 4th Be with You!”
After all, roughly half of my walk-in closet houses costumes from the days when I used to produce my own spoken word and storytelling show, The Austin Writers Roulette. I’ve recycled this Princess Leia costume many times over, but never with a mask. This burst of impractical creativity felt more exhilarating than usual. Just what the doctor ordered during this COVID-19 pandemic.
In addition to this being my regular grocery shopping day,
I shopped for three special recipes for the next day’s celebration, Cinco de Mayo: two “Mexican” recipes and a coconut margarita recipe.
The first dish I cooked was something no self-respecting Mexican would ever eat
–or at the very least, consider “Mexican.” It had “tater tots” in its recipe name, but like any potato, meat, bean, corn, cheese and hot sauce dish, I absolutely loved it.
For my second recipe, which used ingredients commonly found in Mexican food, but wasn’t quite a Mexican dish, I made something that could either be thought of as a burrito pie or taco casserole or some such thing, but this recipe used tortillas as its carb rather than tater tots. All in all, still very delicious.
The only recipe I felt absolutely confident about was the Coconut Margarita.
Not that I necessarily needed a recipe since, as my favorite type of margarita, I had been making these for years. I just wanted to see if there were any interesting twists on it that I’d find delicious. There weren’t.
Little did I realize at the time, but this would mark the last time I bought meat at the grocery store for a while. As it stood, I’d only bought poultry on a regular basis: eggs, turkey and chicken. Since I’m an omnivore, I’d order red meat at restaurants.
Yet, now with meat packing plants closing down due to the pandemic, I’m no longer buying meat except for eggs. Even for takeout, I’ve been ordering seafood.
A lawyer friend of mine took me to task, telling me that my buying habits wouldn’t change how they processed meat. Plus lessening the demand would merely put more people out of work.
Yet, she misunderstood my position. With meat processing places shutting down do to illness among the employees who worked there, the price of meat has increased. I stopped buying avocados last year for the very same reason. Regardless of how anyone processes food, if I can’t afford it, I don’t buy it.
I’d love to vote with my dollars. Have my spending habits influence better practices up the food chain, but the reality is, there are many other food choices I can make. What I look for in recipes are tastiness and affordability. I generally cook nutritious dishes, but my Cinco de Mayo recipes weren’t quite that. I tried to compensate by not eating large portions in one setting, but let’s face it: since I made both to alternate between lunch and dinner, I just slow trained through those less than good nutrition dishes.
The other sinister consideration was perhaps I’d do myself a favor by weaning off meat. I’ve known for a while that the US consumed resources at a 5 planets/yr rate. The next iteration of “meat processing” may not be something I actually want to eat.
We’re either heading for a more dystopian society or we’ll bounce back better than before. Or, and this may be the dismal truth, dystopia will exist for those of us who don’t make the financial cut while systemic improvement will exist for those who can continue to afford it.
Periodically, my roommate and I take long walks for the sake of exercise.
For our latest walks, we’ve included eating dinner, but for this particular food walk, we attended a Martin Luther King, Jr celebration at our nearest HBCU (Historically Black College/University). Although this was one of our longer walks, it was far more pleasant than the marches our civil rights ancestors had endured.
As soon as we reached our destination, we joined a long line for a combo plate from one of the locally-owned soul food trucks.
At first, my roommate wasn’t hungry, but after standing in line, which rivaled the wait time of any amusement park ride, she definitely had an appetite.
While in line, we enjoyed hearing live music on the nearby stage,
and also being immersed within a diverse crowd that can only be achieved in Austin during special events. From our vantage point, we spotted friends we’d not seen for a spell and made new friends through casual conversations we had with other people in line with us.
On the way back home, I saw with fresh eyes a sight I’d driven and even walked past many times before.
The gaping space where a Latinx market used to be. A market that I’d always said I wanted to check out, but never did because I took for granted that it would always be there.
Everything, except for the freestanding market sign, had been razed. Yet, upon that sign read, “SPACES AVAILABLE.” A phrase that began literally, transformed into irony. The gaping space where the market once stood was now, indeed available.
On Christmas morning, I put on my best (and only) Christmas elf costume.
We’d long since stopped waking up early in the morning to open presents. Now, the priority was documenting the Christmas scene, including our outfits before we dove into the gifts.
When in actuality, the main picture we wanted to take was with the entire family.
My niece and I were the first two ready…for nearly 20 minutes.
Then my sister joined in.
We even took a combination of pictures, waiting for everyone else to get their acts together.
At last!
We finally had six people all together like a family.
This one shows more personality.
My sister dubbed it the “crazy” pose. She doesn’t get out much.
One of my nieces received a circle light mirror, so of course we all wanted to test it out.
I believe we were too close to the camera, but I love how this shot picked up the texture of my locks.
Something my brother-in-law was baking set off the smoke detector.
He thought he’d cancelled the emergency signal, but at least the firefighters had a sense of humor. They asked my brother-in-law if he’d burned Christmas dinner. Absolutely not! All the food turned out fine.
Fast forward to Saturday.
My sister’s family and I met other extended family and friends in a parking lot around 1 AM. After loading up our things, we all zonked out as comfortably as we could. We took one rest stop break, then a few hours later, ate breakfast at a restaurant in NC, where ten other extended family and friends joined us on the bus.
The kids on the bus cheered when we turned the last corner, bringing our cruise ship into view at a port in Charleston, SC. Since this was my first ocean cruise, I didn’t know if the boarding process would be as much of a hassle boarding a plane.
Turns out, it wasn’t, especially since I shared a cabin with my parents. All three of us were expedited through the line since Dad used a walker and a portable oxygen device.
While still in customs, one of my sisters gifted me a lanyard, which turned out to be invaluable. I realized that in the madness of the holiday season, I’d failed to research what one should pack for a cruise, which was uncharacteristic of me.
All the preparations I’d made for various things during the month of December had drained my energy. Packing for this part of my vacation was where I’d dropped the ball. In addition to not having a lanyard, I didn’t have a small bag to take a water bottle, towel and other things to go around the ship and when we disembarked at Nassau and Half Moon Cay. Plus, I totally spaced bringing enough cash for incidentals such as tipping baggage handlers or buying lunch off the ship at restaurants, which didn’t accept credit cards. I couldn’t believe that in this day and age business people wouldn’t accept credit cards. Just allot money for the fees as part of business expenses!
Once we cleared customs, I led my parents to the 6th floor on the ship, where our cabin was. I consulted the map near the elevator and walked straight to our cabin despite Mom questioning whether I was going the correct way. Additionally she questioned how we’d get our keys since we hadn’t gone to guest services.
I’d noticed envelopes tucked above the room number placards and hoped that the room keys were in it. We arrived at our cabin, just like I figured we would, and found our envelope with the keys in it, just like I figured they would be.
As soon as we entered the cabin, mom said there wasn’t enough room to “curse a cat.” I mentioned that the expression was “not enough room to swing a cat,” but she doubled down. We had to play cabin twister the entire time if more than one of us were walking around since their king size bed and my twin bed consumed most of the real estate. To gain a little more floor space, I asked our cabin steward to remove the mini fridge. In its place, I put Dad’s oxygen condenser, but it couldn’t use the outlet the fridge had used because it was a different voltage.
The upside: no iron in the cabin. Big victory for me since Mom would’ve nagged the shit out of me about ironing my clothes. Her choices were to live with wrinkled clothes or send them to be ironed. I’m proud to say, she chose the former.
For the first cruise activity, we danced on the deck.
Found myself doing those horrid line dances. The hardest thing about doing those monotonous dances was doing those monotonous dances.
Eventually, Thing 1 and Thing 2 joined us along with Mom.
This was the only way my 79-year-old mom would dance with me.
I would have preferred to wear one of the costumes.
Once things got rowdier, Things 1 & 2 & Mom disappeared.
Mom couldn’t look at the water while we were moving.
She had her back to the view during our first breakfast. She nor Dad didn’t even go to the upper deck to see the island when we were docked. Dad joked that they were like hermit crabs. On the last full day, my sisters and I finally got them to the open deck, but we first had them walk around the track twice although Mom tried her best to get out of it by first looking over the railing to see what other people were doing. After the first lap, she wanted to do a line dance because the music was playing, but we made her use that energy to take the second lap. We found them two seats in the sun and told the nearest married couple to take notes from our parents, who’d been married for 58 years.
Extended family and invited friends met in one of the clubs for a scheduled fellowship,
which included a brunch buffet. One of my sisters and an older cousin, who was now a grandfather, co-emceed the event. I read a poem to remember deceased family members. While I was up there, the host in me took over.
After reading the poem, I explained that whichever branch of the family they belonged to or was invited by as a family friend, they would come up on the stage for a group picture. Then, one member of that group would introduce everyone.
Prior to the start of the impromptu program, I had discussed this activity with my sister, who initially wanted to pass the mic and let each individual introduce themselves. I shot that down because I feared it would turn into an unwieldy quasi-graduation event.
The eldest member of a particular branch of the Strange family
(yes, that IS the actually surname!) introduced everyone in the group. Representing the Floyd Strange (#11) branch, in lime green, Mom fulfilled that duty.
Making introductions for the Theodore Strange (#12) branch,
in red, Theodore, Jr. fulfilled the duty, which included both Theodore the III and IV AKA “Q,” who was told he’d have to continue the naming tradition.
Introducing the Mary Strange (#9) branch,
in yellow, one of her grandsons, who was a grandfather himself, had an easy task since so few had attended the cruise. Make no mistake, this was a prolific branch of the family.
In total, there were twelve Strange siblings, of which, my maternal grandfather was the eleventh. Only nine out of the twelve had descendants, but no one from the other six branches of the Strange family came on the cruise.
I wish my immediate family would choose holiday cruises instead of exchanging gifts since it’s better to make memories. I envied a woman I’d met while gently boiling in the hot tub, who pitched just that deal to her family four years ago and they’ve been cruising every year since.
After the group photos and introductions, we’d only used up half of our allotted two hours.
I asked Mom to allow me to interview her on stage. Of course she didn’t want to do it, but I convinced her to sit in one of the two chairs I’d placed on stage. I grabbed the mic and sat down to ask her questions. Many were questions I’d asked her over the eight years I’d produced the Austin Writers Roulette because I’d written essays based on her answers.
We really got everyone’s attention, discussing our racist dog, Sandy. Mom steered the conversation to Sandy not allowing an Avon lady to visit the house when dad was home but Mom was not.
When I asked her about the first time she fired a gun, Mom said, “Oh, you mean the time I almost killed my brother?” Even the kids stopped playing cards to hear that story. Apparently, one of Mom’s brothers had been late to pick her and her sister-in-law (my aunt) up. Mom joked about pretending to shoot him when he finally showed up. My aunt, not wanting to risk harming her husband, suggested firing the gun out of the window to make sure it wasn’t loaded even though they saw no bullets. Sure enough, there was a bullet in the chamber. Mom never touched gun again.
Missing in action was another uncle, 90 years old, who had been very reluctant about cruising for the first time,
but he absolutely loved it. He spent most of his waking hours drinking and gambling. I was pleasantly surprised when I caught him drinking ice water, which I could easily identify because ice floats in water, but not in vodka. He actually disembarked during our Nassau stop because the casino was closed until six PM.
He made quick work of shopping at the market. He’d already bought a Bahamian fanny pack when my sister and I found him parked in his motility scooter. We assisted him in buying a straw hat. Afterwards he joked about the next thing he needed to buy: a drink.
Every evening, we ate dinner at an assigned table.
Although most items on our dinner menu were already included, alcohol, soda, and prime cuts of red meat weren’t. I didn’t miss having a glass of wine with dinner as much as I thought I would. I wasn’t merely being a cheapskate. I wanted to see if I’d experience motion sickness.
So, I drank lots of water throughout the day. Still, I ate more frequently, including about 3-5 desserts daily, especially the 24-hour self-serve chocolate frozen yogurt. At least I had CBD to put in my morning glass of water, which kept my ankle pain at bay for the most part and had the added benefit of keeping my colon rolling, which I credit the CBG for that.
We persuaded Mom to disembark at Nassau for a hot second,
but she was dead set against disembarking the following day at Half Moon Cay. Instead of docking at a port, the ship docked close to the shore. Anyone who wanted to visit Half Moon Cay had to take a water shuttle in form of a small boat. There was no way in hell Mom was stepping off a ship unless it was upon terra firma!
Not only was the ride smooth, but it also traveled slowly…
nothing like the previous water shuttle Mom had experienced with another cruise years ago. Despite the fact that we were the only ship docked, the beach with the complimentary lounge chairs was packed. Apparently one had to get up and off the ship far earlier than our little troupe cared to do.
We found four available lounge chairs partially submerged in the ocean.
The rest of us threw a large beach blanket on the sand nearby. The water was cold, but we eventually got used to it, even my cold-natured sister.
I did water aerobics, which probably did more to fatigue my trick ankle than anything else.
One of my nephews, who inadvertently forgot to pack his swimming trunks, became our photographer.
We cleaned up nicely in time to celebrate NYE.
Even got the hermit parents to come out and stay up to see in the new year.
But the NYE celebration was a little dicey since the free app that kept me informed about the ship’s daily activities hadn’t updated.
I thought the dance club opened at 11 PM, but it turned out to be 11:30. One drunk woman got rowdy about the doors not opening on time. Even her husband thought security was going to get her. He showed her on his phone that the doors would open later, but she wanted to use my phone as “evidence” that they’d advertised an earlier opening.
Then she wanted to us to bum rush the door by holding it open and telling us to walk through since we were first in line, but we didn’t budge. I don’t know if the other older black women in the front of the line had a similar thought, but the phrase “white privilege” kept replaying in my mind. I’m not sure what form of ship jail there was, but I felt confident that none of us blacks wanted to find out how we’d get punished more than our white counterparts. So we waited patiently.
Once we were legitimately inside, we secured great seats on the perimeter of the dance floor. All the stadium seating on the sides of the club had been curtained off. So we were fortunate to have been first in line.
I did more of those horrid line dances.
Around two AM, we hit the line at the 24-hour pizza place. For the first time ever, the line wasn’t terribly long. As I ate, I felt ready to be off the ship. Yet, that wouldn’t happen until the next day. I don’t know how anyone can stand more than a five-day cruise.
I wished my uncle a Happy New Year when I came across him at his home on the ship.
(That’s actually water beside the can of soda.)
Later in the day, on January 1st, I felt the clock ticking for different countdowns:
to disembark in Charleston, to load the bus, to eat at the lunch stop, to get to the airport, to catch the connecting flight, to ride the airport shuttle back home. Everything progressed without a hitch.
Even so, I saw a break in the mathematical pattern within that chain of events. Looking for my seat on the first leg of the trip, I wondered about row 33 off and on for the entire flight. Reminded me of something out of a Hogwarts train platform. Then I thought about how Christ was allegedly crucified at age 33. I trust the explanation of the missing row was probably something far less imaginative, but what a joy to see creative stimulus within a routine ending of a trip.
Since my roommate has trained for endurance sports for over a decade and I exercise every day,
I can count on her to walk with me for a couple of miles at least once a week. This normally occurs when there’s no capoeira class or I’m not in the mood to work out in the fitness room, especially if the weather is decent.
We figured these long walks would be more rewarding if there was a food destination attached. That way, we’d get a brief libation and bathroom break, then we’d walk back.
For this excursion, our destination was a Korean restaurant that looked relatively new. It wasn’t exactly in what most people would consider “walking distance,” but considering that we’re both very talkative, the time and miles would drift by.
About a fourth of the way into our excursion, we spotted Cowboy Santa coming our way. Some people start with the Christmas activities before Halloween, but since Thanksgiving had just passed, this horseback Santa was appropriate for the season.
(I normally like much clearer pictures than this, but the blurry Bigfoot aspect of this photo adds to the mystique. Actually, this is much better quality than most of those Sasquatch pictures.)
Once we were mere blocks from our destination, I said, “What if this Korean restaurant is one of those pretentious places that aren’t open on Mondays?” Of course that turned out to be the case. After all, there must be some universal truth that if you cross paths with something seemingly unlikely, like Cowboy Santa, then that’s got to be coupled with something like an overly hip place not being open for dinner at dinner time.
True, we could have researched their hours of operation online, but then we would have chosen another restaurant, perhaps taken a different route and NOT crossed paths with Cowboy Santa.
The monthly luncheon with my insurance/entrepreneurial group coincided with St. Patrick’s Day weekend. So, we sipped the house punch throughout lunch, but followed up with an Irish decaf coffee topped with green honey-based whipped cream and edible glitter.
Our rosy red cheeks and smiles may be deceptive, but the three of us represented a wealth of financial knowledge, which overlapped in some areas. Yet it was the knowledge that we brought to the table that made this meeting so valuable.
I’m currently studying real estate investments and tax law. Another colleague had recently started a new job with the city and discussed her compensation and benefit package. The other colleague had recently picked up another insurance agent gig and was in the process of buying a new house.
We intertwined those pursuits over some good food, personal and professional triumphs, and lots of laughs. And without formally stating it, we all walked away with a renewed sense of what we each needed to do by the next lunch meeting in April.
One of my Austin Writers Roulette poets launched a book on St. Patrick’s Day. He wore a discrete shamrock and encouraged everyone who was reading to wear green. He brought together friends and family from out of town and out of state.
He started off the event by read a few selections from his book.
Then he gave me such a warm introduction to join him on stag. I spoke about how I inadvertently became a part of his latest book. In August 2017, the theme for the Roulette was “Old School Soul Food.” For a previous roulette, he’d written very poignantly about his grandmother’s cooking. I’d looked forward to his participation for this upcoming roulette. And therein started the argument! He told me that he couldn’t write more on the subject. I pushed back, saying that he couldn’t possibly have just one story about his grandmother’s cooking. We went for another round. That back and forth via email became the “Blue Bowl Epistolary.” (My participation starts at timestamp 13:12)
Although she could have upstaged the whole event, thanks to being the daughter of a famous spoken word poet, she was totally down to earth. She read her contribution to the book, and then followed up with another piece not in the book as all we participants had.
After the reading, we all hung around talking, especially since people who’d attending the event wanted us to autograph their copy of the book.
The gathering was a quasi-family reunion whereby everyone came from out of town to support the book launch.
The one misstep I made was handing my camera phone to someone who normally takes pictures with an actual camera.
He loved the speed at which he could tap the screen and take rapid-fire pictures until I took it from him.
I’ve never officially celebrated this “holiday” even though I’ve wished people Happy Pi Day for several years. Since I firmly believe in attending all of the leasing office’s free food and drink events because they raise my rent yearly, I signed up for the pizza “social.”
It was social in the respect that as one made their individual pizza, we all talked, but as our stylish carrying case denoted, we had to bake them at home. With half a mind on my newfound diet, I grabbed an already cooked whole wheat mini pizza crust, smothered it with pesto and topped it with things that were mostly diet-compliant (I think. The crust itself wasn’t!).
The leasing agent suggested adding fresh basil, which wasn’t part of the pizza bar, but I had some at home. She also told us that since everything was technically cooked, we only had to heat it in the oven until the cheese melted.
Except she ran that advice together with a separate thought and came out with: “Have fun until the cheese melts.” Me being me, that statement sounded a lot like sexual innuendo. I thought of my neighbors who only seem to hit it at 2 AM on a Tuesday or Wednesday on the other side of my bedroom wall. That’s when their cheese melts.
I admitted wanting to knock on the wall and tell her to send him over after they were done. I initially thought about asking the leasing agent who those neighbors were, but decided against knowing, which everyone present agreed was the better option.
Instead, I heated my pizza at home until the cheese melted and enjoyed it with a glass of Malbec. Happy Pi Day!
As a child who attended public school, I always knew I had to wear something green on March 17th whether I was Irish or not, rather than run the risk of being pinched. Even as an adult, I love not just wearing green on St. Patrick’s day, but dressing up for an occasion despite not having an actual character in mind since Halloween is my favorite holiday. Why dress boringly every day of the year?
And then out of nowhere while driving, Willie Nelson’s “On the Road Again” reminds me of something green. Picture this: a gas-guzzling medium green Town & Country station wagon with the fake wood paneling on the sides. Bare thighs sticking to the fake green leather in the back middle seat between my two older sisters with the smell of cold fried chicken, circulated by the AC.
We took family car vacations in the 70s and 80s. The longest ones were during the dead heat of summer from Little Rock, AR to Cascade and Hampton, VA to visit both sides of the family. I don’t remember ever staying in a hotel en route to visit the relatives. We minimized having to stop for food because Mom always fried up a lot of chicken legs for us to eat along with chips and soda, which was a treat because we normally drank Kool-aid or sweet tea with dinner and bottled water wasn’t yet a thing. Anyway, if we ever got hungry or thirsty, all we had to do was reach or crawl over the backseat to get something to eat or drink because wearing seat belts wasn’t a big deal either.
Even though Willie Nelson’s hit song came out in 1980, the year after my family had moved from Arkansas to North Carolina, it so perfectly captures those long cross-country family vacations. In reality, my mother couldn’t have started singing “On the Road Again” during those trips. Yet I clearly remember her singing that song during the start of subsequent trips in the green machine.
And speaking of music, how did we not end up killing one another with just one radio and ME for entertainment? This reminds me of one short-lived game that I invented where I was the radio and all my sisters had to do was change the channel and I’d sing a different song.
One my sister’s tapped me on the nose, told me that was the “off” button and wouldn’t turn me back on. Neither would my other sister. I was mad as hell. I complained to my mother, who I could clearly see was laughing even though she was facing forward and wasn’t making a sound. When Mom regained her composure, she turned around and suggested that I just be quiet for a while.
As a child, the only times I was “quiet for a while” was during church, half the time at school, and when I was asleep. As a matter of fact, if I’d grown up in the 90s, I would’ve been given Ritalin. Instead, my elementary school day consisted of two outside recesses. The neighborhoods where I lived were so safe, I could play outside, unsupervised with my friends over a large area. Mom used to joke that if anyone ever kidnapped me, they’d bring me back. She also claimed that she’d only hear my voice out of all the other kids. Yet if I was in the house and awake, but she couldn’t hear me, then she knew I was up to something.
So, there was NEVER a snowball’s chance in hell I was going to be quiet while confined in a station wagon and awake. No climbing trees, no playing on the monkey bars, no bike riding, and no running around while screaming and laughing out loud. Just sitting between my sisters for 16 hours who didn’t even know the proper way to play radio!
Over the years, newer family cars replaced the green machine and yet it still lingered. My father had been a mechanic in the Air Force, and especially loved working on cars. He was such a car enthusiast that he was always ready to buy a new car if it wasn’t for my mother pumping the brakes on the idea.
When I was a senior in high school, I’d driven the green machine over to a friend’s house party. Even back then, I never gave a damn about a car being a status symbol–just a way to get from point A to point B. However, the old station wagon, with its weathered fake wood paneling had developed a nervous tick. At random times, the horn honked–all by itself.
I made that entire 15-minute drive to my friend’s house and back waving at people to play it off. Most people waved back. When I returned home and complained to my father about the honking, he responded matter of factly, “Oh yeah, you have to pull up on the steering wheel when you drive it.”
The last memorable time I spent with the green machine, I was a college student. Typically, I came home with a large green Army bag full of dirty clothes to be washed and ended my visit with a trip to the commissary with my father to stock up on groceries.
During this particular trip, Dad had locked the keys in the car. We used a payphone to call Mom to rescue us. While we sat on top of the back of the station wagon waiting, Dad looked over the grocery bill. I’d zoned out until he shouted, “Tampons! Girl, those things are expensive. No wonder this bill is so high.”
In retrospect, I’m amazed that was when Dad had learned about the high price of menstruating. After all I was the youngest of three daughters and he’d been married for nearly 30 years by that point. But who am I to judge? That was the moment I’d learned Dad was the bring-home-the-bacon-and-give-the-money-to-your-wife kind of husband.
And these days, that’s the only green I’m usually thinking of.
Everything we’d planned to do for Christmas was delayed by a day. My sister and her family had vacationed out of the country and were supposed to fly back into Reagan International Airport around midnight; so I purposely flew in late to rendezvous with them at the airport. As soon as I landed, not only were no red-wine-serving restaurants open, but my family was stranded and I had to get a room at hotel for the night.
En route to the hotel suggested by my sister, the cab driver double checked the address with me, which I thought was strange, but when I looked it up on my phone, the words
PERMANENTLY CLOSED
appeared on the screen. To cross check, I input the street address and discovered the name of the hotel had changed because a new chain bought them out. Yet, once we arrived in the dark parking lot with construction material in the driveway, I requested the cab driver to take me to the next nearest hotel. Although he offered to drive me to 3-4 other hotels, I’m sure with the meter running, I said I’d check the availability at the next hotel and stay there.
Not only did the next hotel have a room, but I had 30 minutes to order room service. I was so tired and hungry, I kept apologizing to the front desk guy in between food- and sleep-deprived giggles. I ordered a lump crab cake burger with sweet potato fries and a glass of Malbec as part of my check in.
When the food arrived, I propped it on the bed and devoured it before I knew what was what. On my first flight, I’d only had a cup of apple juice and on my second flight a cup of water with a sad bag of pretzels.
I slept like a baby, worked out in the morning like a rockstar and then had a fabulous breakfast. Later on, I reunited with my family, who had a similar starvation story to mine the night before.
When we got to their house, there was a flurry of activity needed to be done, first of which was clearing junk from some areas of the house to other areas. It was quite a feat of physics. Afterwards, all the guest beds had to be made since my parents, my other sister and her son would be arriving later on in the day. Plus my nephew and brother-in-law had to go out and get a tree. This had been the latest they’d ever bought a tree–two days before Christmas.
Magically, among all the cleaning and rearranging, my nephew still found a creative moment to put together this ensemble as if he were a weary traveler when in fact, he was merely taking all of the items he was wearing and the bottle of rum to another location of the house. Since he’s never met a camera he didn’t like, he willingly posed for this picture.
By Christmas Eve, the tree was finally decorated and all the gifts were around it. My sister, who hadn’t slept a wink from Christmas Eve until mid Christmas Day last year, managed to catch a few hours of sleep before breakfast was served.
A few years ago, my nieces and nephews were too old to excitedly wake up on Christmas morning and open their gifts. Thus, starting the wonderful tradition of eating breakfast before our gift exchange. As usual, we adults ate first and slowly the kids woke up and ate.
At that time, my sister was on her Christmas morning nap and I did some editing work.
By late Christmas morning, the “kids” were in position for the gift exchange.
They just had to wait patiently for the rest of us.
I think the best gift was spending lots of laughs with family.
I can’t say what prompted this pose other than general Christmas Day silliness, but I know that family time has become more precious now that both of my nieces are in college.
Of course once my brother-in-law saw the incomplete family portrait, he joined in.
The second best gift was the digestive medicinals I gave Mom. She is the Queen of Home Remedies, so I knew she’d get a kick out of the digestive bitters. After trying a few drops of all three, she claimed that she felt tipsy. I just laughed at her, read the ingredients and discovered they all contained vodka. One of my nieces and I had multiple drops to no effect.
We all tore into an edible arrangement basket–our midday snack. None of us felt we could partake of it until my sister stopped frisking around to enjoy it as well.
How blessed we were to have OG Mr. and Mrs. Santa Claus celebrating with us.
Funniest thing about this picture was that Mom and probably just finished nagging my niece about something, but paused to make this pose look warm and fuzzy.
On Boxing Day, my niece was supposed to get her applications together for graduate school, but was preoccupied with selfies and texting to concentrate. (As if I’m the one to talk. I like writing with the TV on!) She airdropped this picture “just to see if it would work,” while I edited. Despite what she said, I think she just wanted to see how tech savvy I was.
I confirmed that I received it, but encouraged her to complete her application since I wanted her to get into either Houston or Denver, and then I offered to help her drive cross country if either of those things happened.
On our final night together, we ate at a restaurant that was inspired by Langston Hughes. At one point, I saw a Black woman walk toward our table, stop in her tracks, double over looking at me, then put her hands on her cheeks as she advanced toward me saying my name. At that point, I went from bracing myself for a confrontation to leaping from my seat to embrace a friend I hadn’t seen since we’d both moved away from Honduras nine years ago.
As we embraced one another, one of my sisters took a picture of us. My long-lost friend then introduced me to her brother, cousin, fiancé and a friend. Then she excitedly told them that I was going to the wedding. I just smiled because in actuality my attendance at her wedding depends on whether or not I have to help my niece drive cross country.
Halloween has long been my favorite holiday from childhood to adulthood unlike any other. So when a friend suggested we go to one of the classic, interactive non-horror Halloween movies at my favorite movie theatre, I readily agreed. The theatre even provided a goodie bag to go along with the movie–very smart move. I wasn’t the least surprised that the goodie bag didn’t contain rice nor fine confetti. Imagine the clean up!
With a third of my closet dedicated to costumes, I wasn’t the least bit pressed about being a particular character. I just pulled together most of my Mad Hatter costume with the notable exception of the hat and the functional addition of my slick black raincoat. Even though the theatre gave us newspapers, they also gave us water guns. I made sure to fill mine up with water since I wasn’t going to enter this water gun fight with a dry gun. That would be un-Texan.
I hadn’t seen this movie in such a long time that it was almost like seeing again for the first time, yet I’d seen it at least twice before. I’d really wanted to do the Time Warp, especially since we sat on the front row and didn’t have to travel far to dance. I got sidelined by my chicken wings that arrived a few minutes prior to that famous scene.
Despite the mostly young crowd, there were some of us who have remained young at heart and knew many of things to shout out at the screen. We’d had a talking to prior to the movie, which basically said don’t squirt or throw anything at the servers and don’t shout out continuously throughout the movie.
I’m so happy everyone participated without getting out of hand and since this was a musical, we sang along throughout the movie. This may become my new Halloween celebration tradition, especially when Halloween falls on a weeknight.
