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Half the reason I attended this event was to dress up for it.
Given the lack of motivation I had to put a costume together for Halloween, I redoubled my costume effort for this holiday party. At least I had a theme, a place to go, and I already knew enough people to feel comfortable if I didn’t really want to be sociable.
I didn’t have to worry about that, though.
The crowd was small enough not to overwhelm, but big enough to be interesting. Since we were all creatives at varying points in our career, there was no shortage of wonderful conversations. I circulated around the room, even striking up a conversation with two other women after I asked them to pose with me because I liked their attire.
One Christmas miracle: I won a raffle prize!
I’d laughed at myself while writing my name on the slip of paper. After all, I infamously didn’t win one of the 14 raffle prizes when there were 15 of us at a workshop years ago. The joke was on me at this event. As soon as they handed me the prize, I started thinking of which costume my golden purse would accompany.
I knew ‘Rona had destroyed a little part of my soul when I wasn’t in the mood to dress up for Halloween, my favorite holiday as an adult. Granted, I had no place where I wanted to celebrate Halloween, but that never stopped me every other year. Last year, I dressed up twice for Halloween celebrations and never left my apartment. This year, I couldn’t even think of a single thing to dress up as. Unofficially, I went as “Apathy.”
I’d cancelled Thanksgiving plans since I didn’t know my COVID status until Saturday morning following the holiday, but I still had a relaxing, joyful time with a coconut vegetable curry dinner, then a gathering with a dear friend and her extended family after I found that I was COVID-negative.
Even so, Christmas wasn’t on my radar until Mom sent me a family group picture somewhere around DC, posed in front of giant Christmas tree. That picture zapped me out of my Rip Van Winkle time warp. Yes, the holidays still continue even if I’m not in the mood for them.
For years, Thanksgiving signaled the start of hand-making Christmas cards. That time came and went. I barely threw together a Christmas kickoff for myself on December 1st when I sipped eggnog and watched “Jingle Jangle.”
A few days later, I made four Christmas cards and ordered Austin-themed gift baskets for my family. I thoughtfully researched the contents of the basket, so that everything in them would be appreciated by someone in the household. For example, there were a few baskets that had coffee, but my parents don’t drink it, so their basket doesn’t have any. On the other hand, my two nieces and occasionally their mother drink coffee, so theirs could have it.
Yet, for some time now, my life has been one of mere homeostasis with punctuations of some different shit that, by default become the highlights of the week. It’s survival mode, straight through the holidays. Funny how so entrenched in the sameness of my schedule that Christmas caught me off guard. At least I caught it in time to be a part of it.
For the first time in my life, I only had one day off for Thanksgiving. Not really too much of a problem since my present job is super chill and there’s no such thing as a destination vacation for me during a pandemic. Even if I had the time, I don’t have the money.
My original Thanksgiving plans fell through a few days before I’d bought groceries. Although I could have had backup dinner plans, I liked the idea of selfishly spending the entire day just leisurely on my own schedule. Except for the part where I took a virtual yoga class.
At any rate, the sign of the times caught up with me. A few people, who had attended an in-person maskless event where I’d enjoyed myself immensely, had tested positive for COVID-19. So, in a way, things worked out for my selfish celebration. The soonest I could schedule a rapid test was Saturday morning. Honestly, you don’t have to tell me twice to enjoy a day off, work another day, then get two more days off.
After my midday workout, I made my Thanksgiving Day meal: Vegetable Coconut Curry with Tri-Colored Quinoa.
Although I worked on Friday, AKA the notorious “Black Friday,” my coworkers and I joked about being safely at work rather than caught up in all the madness.
As soon as I sent word mid-Saturday morning that I’d tested negative for COVID, I got an invitation for brunch. Fortunately, my schedule was clear.
Once again, no traditional turkey dinner with all the trimmings. Not that I complained. Very far from it. After a selection of cheeses, dips, and chips, I enjoyed a deliciously grilled steak with steamed French fries. Of course, I brought some steak home!
For dessert, there were a selection of digestifs.
I insisted on just getting a “taste” of all of them because I still had to drive home afterwards. My favorite treat was the almond-flavored tequila. Some are too harsh for my palate, but not this one.
My friend gave me a boot-shaped shot glass and kept filling it as if it were a firefighter’s fundraiser.
Fortunately, her son was in town and not driving, so I passed the boot to him to polish off, then I tried the next selection.
At the end of the evening, I didn’t recall that I hadn’t enjoy a four-day weekend. No, I wasn’t drunk. After all these years, I’ve had stressful jobs I’ve loved. Stressful jobs I’ve hated. Unstressful jobs I’ve hated. And finally, I’ve got an unstressful job I like. Not love. Not yet. Perhaps not ever. It’s challenging to match the joy of the best days of teaching to what I’m doing now. It’s close though. This among the things I’m grateful for.
One of the first friends I made when I moved to Austin in 2009, started a standing annual date with me to do the East Austin Studio Tour. The only thing that interrupted our touring was the pandemic in 2020, but fortunately we resumed our date this year.
Along our way, we witnessed contemporary history integrated along the art tour.
In the backyard of a historic house that had been converted into an art studio, visitors were invited to paint on a long rectangular canvas, anchored on a fence.
By the time we arrived, only spaces that fit in the palm of my hand were available. A thin brush and magenta and deep blue paint called to me. One thing that has never failed me: a swirling spiral, which never quite manifests as I originally intend. Even so, that motion brings me joy. Given time, the motion usually creates something that I like to call “The Eye of God,” which stares back at me. If one views either the magenta or the blue, one can see the separate eyes. Once I completed the pair of eyes, only then did I notice the bold red streak that it sits upon.
While strolling from one studio to another, we came across a bit of nostalgia.
I asked my friend to check it out. It was purely decorative. Considering how much most of us are on our phones, some to the point of addiction, this was a throwback to a time when we weren’t so available. A phone was merely a means of communication. It’s interesting to note that now we have so many different means of communication, one would incorrectly assume that no one would ever be out of touch or lonely. It’s far too much.
The best part about touring is hanging out with a longtime friend out in the fresh air, being inspired by other people’s creativity.
Time was, we creative women with stylish glasses would reconvene on a monthly basis to share project ideas and give constructive feedback.
Now the mere act of getting together in a public space is the featured activity.
One of the best features of being sequestered for our own good is how much we value getting together once we venture out. And might I add, “venting out.”
I unleashed months of tension that once I got out of my system, I immediately felt a bounce in my mental health. I imagine it like a video game where my character scores some valuable thing and there’s a wonderful increase in health.
None of us had brought any work to share, but we all floated away afterwards with optimistic feelings of how we’re going to tackle our projects. Hopefully, we’ll get to gather our creative minds together on a more regular basis to get back into the groove.
The physical appearance of this on-going pandemic has manifested all over my body: 147 lbs, 35″ bust, 35″ waist, 41.5″ hips, and 23.25″ thigh. Never in life have I ever summarized myself in such numeric terms besides age, but I recently joined a “life improvement” challenge. Granted, the point is both physical and mental improvement. I especially want to lose the pandemic pounds along with the reoccurring negative thoughts.
Yet, the physical measurements are both easier to ascertain while at the same time harsh to read in black and white. I’m well aware that numbers don’t lie, but people can lie with numbers. The lie I may be telling myself about these set of numbers is that they’re the conclusion of an on-going pandemic, middle age hood, and a full time desk job.
I’ve done everything I can to counteract all except the aging part. I’m not obsessed with reversing the aging process–just living through it healthily and pain-free. As far as the pandemic, I’m double vaxxed and considering the booster. As far as the J-O-B, I got a standing desk, which I started off using just for the last 90 minutes of the work day, then the last two hours, and finally close to four hours.
I’m doing all I can to mitigate the curveball changes in the course of pursuing happiness. But those numbers. Once I got those measurements, I felt less attractive. I envisioned the top half of my body as a cylinder and the bottom half as a sphere. Contained within, a restless blob.
As disjointed as that image is, I’m working to reconcile body positivity with getting back into shape and embracing a more positive headspace. Part of the challenge is taking a daily supplement. The upside is that it gives me more energy, better sleep and suppresses the hunger pains, which means the munchies have disappeared. Eventually, the weight will too. The downside, I’ve got one more thing that’s become a part of my morning routine.
I never met my Great Uncle Daniel AKA “Uncle Down,” who was the third child of my Great Grandfather Jesse and his second wife, Great Grandmother Lucy.
Yet, from the colorful stories I’ve heard about Uncle Down, I recognized the vibrant spirit that runs throughout my family.
Fortunately, I interviewed two of my older relatives for the Strange Family Folklore podcast. One of whom, my mother, Velma Mae Roberson nee Strange, reminisced fondly about how Uncle Down’s horse tricks and broom dancing in “Uncle Down, the Horse Trickster” episode.
On the other hand, one of my second cousins, Ted Strange, Jr., who is a year younger than Mom, painted a vivid picture of Uncle Down’s tobacco farming and moonshining in “The Daring Uncle Down” episode.
Two things that both Mom and Cousin Ted drove home was how Uncle Down and his wife, Aunt Carrie, absolutely loved children even though they had none of their own. Secondly, on their fertile property grew a veritable garden of Eden’s worth of fruit. Given Mom’s and Cousin Ted’s descriptions, I can almost taste all that homegrown produce.
The consolation prize of not having videos of Uncle Down’s horse tricking and broom dancing are the firsthand eyewitness accounts recorded for future generations to enjoy.
I’m not into dumpster diving…especially with this pandemic business going on, but I’m all about picking up gently used furniture that is dumpster-adjacent.
Hence, our new circular dining table. As I strolled around the apartment complex on a beautiful Sunday afternoon and talked with one of my sisters, I saw it.
I fast walked back to the apartment to get my car and ask my roommate to assist me with retrieving the table. All I can say is thank goodness I have a hatchback. We put the table into the car, legs first, which my roommate held onto since we couldn’t close the hatch. I drove slowly, avoiding speed bumps.
Now one of the upsides of the being in a pandemic is that I had plenty of disinfectant wipes to clean the table off before bringing it into our apartment. I’d had a card table for a dining table for over ten years. I’m sure part of my fascination with the preowned table has to do with being sequestered for nearly two years. Yet, the energy in that corner of this tiny apartment has been changed.
After we positioned it, I announced, “We’re going to have a shot party on Friday!” Didn’t even have to check my schedule or ask my roommate about hers. When I texted a picture of the table to some friends along with the impending shot party, one friend immediately invited herself.
My roommate had her drink together precisely at 5:01.
I had some other running around the apartment to do. As soon as I got off from work, which I do from home, I had a 15-minute workout on my vibration plate. Then I set the party table.
For my drink, I googled something like “fall shots” and landed on a recipe that included fresh ginger, sparkling apple cider, apple brandy, honey, with fresh mint garnish.
I’d bought a nice-sized piece of ginger for another drink recipe from Mom: whole cloves, a few sticks of cinnamon and chopped ginger. I brought all that to a rolling boil, then let it steep until it cooled. Turned out very strong but still drinkable.
Good thing too. That healthy drink made a delicious mixer for the alcohol I added to make my fall cocktail. Why mix in only ginger when you can have cinnamon and cloves as well?
Although I called it a “shots party,” let’s face it, I didn’t do shots when I was a cute age to do it, so I surely wouldn’t start that up as a newly minted middle aged woman.
I sipped my cocktail with a throw-together meal my roommate and I put together: cauliflower crusted supreme pizza with a biscuit, baked asparagus and pork ribs. OK, so my only contribute was the pizza. Then again, I spotted the table and planned the party. Great thing I don’t have to do everything.
As usual, I cast my vote in person on the first day of early voting.
I worried that I’d have to wait in line with the other people just getting off work around that time. Silly rabbit! No one but other very nerdy voters booked it to the polls on the first day they were open to vote on bonds and proposals.
Nonetheless, I perform my civic duty as soon as I’m able to, no matter how seemingly trivial the election. After all, I want to have a say in the community in which I live. Plus, I wanted to sport my sweet “I Voted” sticker as I shopped for groceries afterwards.
More importantly, I texted my photo to several friends to remind them that early voting had begun, knowing that about half of them wouldn’t even bother, but for the half who would, totally worth it. In this current climate of voter restrictions, who knows how many elections I have before the restrictions take me back to the 60s?
Not just another excuse to dress up and attend a real live event. Thanks to the membership showcase, I saw my first short film, There’s Always Something, up on the big screen.
Additionally, this was the first time I’d met some other board members in real life after many monthly Zoom call meetings. We hugged one another like long lost friends.
After about 30 minutes of boozing and schmoozing in the lobby, we were finally ushered into the theatre.
Took everything in me not to take a picture of my film as it played. I didn’t catch anyone else doing such an uncouth thing, so I played it cool and restrained myself. Besides, the organization had a photographer going around and taking pictures throughout the evening. All I have to do now is be patient and wait for those pictures to be uploaded to the website…of course now that I going to be a part of the marketing committee since I’m no longer secretary, that my very well be my job.
Speaking of jobs, as much as I enjoy my newish full-time job, I think the concept of “full-time” should be no longer than six and a half hours a day. After all, we’re already working in shifts. Plus, with a desk job, even a lucrative work from home desk job, embracing more sedentary hours lead to higher blood pressure and diabetes. Not to mention a loss of time to advance creative projects such as filmmaking.
Technically, I made a second short film, yet this one was also not written by me. I’m still playing with the idea of making animated films out of something I’ve written. Something that can be done remotely and with an inexpensive app or two.
For now, I’m sticking to illustrating since the process is so relaxing, and podcasting. Like the two short films I made, I created two podcasts last year during the pandemic. I began with “CBD & Poetry,” thinking that I’d combine two of my interests just to get my podcasting feet wet.
Mission accomplished! For the first season, I interviewed friends who used CBD. I self-taught my way throughout the entire process and planned out dropping one episode a week as if I were programming a series. I even outlined and researched season two: CBD entrepreneurs.
Then, organically, I began interviewing my older relatives, starting with my mother for what eventually became known as “Strange Family Folklore” podcast. As I questioned Mom about how our family acquired land, that began a series of questions that deserved a series of podcast episodes. Unlike my first series, which I’ve put on an indefinite hold, this podcast is planned on the fly. I still edit it to the best of my abilities, but I don’t dare think of it in terms of “seasons,” but rather an on-going documentation of a part of my extended family.
In other words, I should have been that asshole who took a picture of my film on the big screen. I don’t know the next time I’ll get that chance again. Everything else I’m working on isn’t projectable.
