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So, I was just pushing my shopping cart toward the checkout area after getting all the items on my list, which I keep on the note app on my smartphone, when I had to do a double take because I thought I saw, via my peripheral vision, a familiar face looking at me.
To my delight, it was Snoop Dogg.
To my delight, it was Snoop Dogg. On a wine bottle. Amused, I circled back to take a picture, but not to purchase. I had plenty of red wine at home, I told myself. I put the Snoop Dogg Cali Red wine on my list for next week.
For once, my Virgo-ness, backfired. The following week brought a gaping hole on the wine shelf where Snoop Dogg should have been. Apparently, everyone wanted the D-O-double G Cali Red wine.
Undaunted, I researched where I could pick up a bottle.
This time, my Virgo-ness paid off. I found a liquor store less than five minutes away from the Black-owned business where I picked up my local food treat for the week. (Since the pandemic, I’ve been ordering takeout from a different restaurant once a week. I’ve not repeated a restaurant yet. Thanks, Rona!)
Although I’m a red wine wino, my favorite is Malbec. Yet the Cali Red was a little sweeter than your average Malbec without being too sweet like a dessert wine, which I refer to as “alcoholic Kool-Aid.” Speaking of “reefer,” no, there was no THC or other hemp products added to the wine. So, as of now, people will just have to supply their own.
In the meantime, who knows how the alcohol and budding hemp industry will emerge on the other side of this pandemic. The federal government isn’t as twitchy as it used to be about hemp products.
In the near future, we may all be able to chill out while sipping Snoop’s wine. And when people remark how relaxed we are, we can say, “Nothing but the Dogg in me.” (I know, that was a George Clinton reference, but I couldn’t resist.)
Never has an inauguration been so riveting since when Obama was first elected.
Back then, I lived and taught at an American school in Tegucigalpa, Honduras. In order not to miss the historic moment, I got permission from the high school principal to organize an assembly just so I could watch it.
This time around, I was my own boss. I graciously gave myself the day off. After four years of the most unbelievable presidency, I wanted to watch the blessed ending of that one and the auspicious beginning of the next one. All from the comfort of my red sofa. I considered it to be Christmas come early, so I wore my Santa and Rudolph pajama pants.
Thanks to the pandemic, there was no crowd. Given the tumultuous way election certification went down, I was totally on board with far fewer people in attendance.
Yet, the rockstars showed up!
Even one of the newest rockstars:
DC Capitol police officer, Eugene Goodman, who led insurrectionists away from the open Senate door, which allowed the politicians more time to seek safety, including the ones whose rhetoric helped set the stage for a coup attempt.
Then the Vice President history maker and glass ceiling breaker,
Kamala Harris and the soon-to-be first second gentleman, Doug Emhof, emerged on the scene.
Of course she didn’t wear her chucks, but those pearls graced the occasion.
Behold the changing times…
the first Black VP greeting the first Black President.
Adding to the superstition that third time’s a charm…
newly elected Joe Biden and Dr. Jill Biden.
When Lady Gaga burst through the door in her fabulous red skirt, I briefly forgot that I was watching history in real time and felt as if I were watching a movie.
I credited quarantining for 10 months for that reality blur.
Lady Gaga sang one of the most enjoyable renditions of our national anthem that I’d ever heard.
The moment I’ve been waiting for my entire life…
It’s official now.
Plus, Harris was sworn in by the first Latina Supreme Court Justice, Sonia Sotomayor.
I love Obama witnessing the process.
And for a third view in case anyone thinks it was all smoke and mirrors.
Once again, the line between history and entertainment blurred.
A few years ago, the previous administration all but abandoned Puerto Rico after Hurricane Maria.
(I’m typing this up weeks after the fact when Biden recently cleared the way for Puerto Rico to FINALLY receive funding to rebuild.)
Last year, along with Shakira, Jennifer Lopez performed during the Super Bowl half-time show.
That was the first year so much Spanish was sung during the event. And she didn’t disappoint this time around as well.
Lord have mercy, after so much drama, including an unsuccessful coup attempt, Biden took the oath.
In this moment, Dr. Biden hugged the newly sworn in president for the 81 million of us who voted for him–
the most votes any American president has ever received in the history of our country.
I honestly don’t remember anything President Biden said, but the gist was “unity.”
On this point, I was cautiously optimistic while I viewed the inauguration. After all, this was a joyous day and I didn’t want to dream up ways the Democrats could fuck up having the House, the Senate and the White House, searching for unity with Republicans.
Afterwards, Garth Brooks sang “Amazing Grace.”
He never did sing with his eyes open. Nonetheless, I appreciated hearing a musician more known for having more conservative fans, performing a song written by a repentant slave ship captain.
What I didn’t take a picture of, because it would have actually required video, was afterward, when Garth’s happy ass couldn’t wait to shake hands and hug all of those VIPs. I was screaming at the TV for him to keep his hands to himself. I know he was caught up in the emotion of the moment, but damn, remember the plague?!
Breakout star and youngest poet to perform at an American inauguration, Youth Poet Laureate Amanda Gorman emoted her original poem,
“The Hill We Climb,” which included the recent insurrection. In another historical first, Gorman will perform an original poem for the 55th Super Bowl.
After the ceremony, Biden got to work, signing executive orders,
which he did not feel the need to hold up and show the cameras. I loved his attitude about not writing new laws, but rather undoing bad policy. Amen to that and God Bless the United States of America.
Usually when I advise someone to “take a picture, it’ll last longer,” I’m being sarcastic. This time though, I was being practical. Austin normally gets ice storms and flooding rains. So, when I prepared the living room for my daily virtual yoga class and witnessed a light dusting of snow, I figured it would melt away by the time the class ended.
I readied the camera on my phone, so I could snap two quick pictures.
A dusting of snow may be delightful, but not the cold weather.
I barely stepped outside.
My parents have two fabulously descriptive phrases to communicate “it’s cold outside:” “The hawk is out” and, my personal favorite, “It’s colder than a witch’s tit.”
Now for once, I was wrong.
Not only had the snow lasted by the time yoga ended, it was still snowing. If I were a child, I would have bundled up and gone outside to make snow angels. Adult me enjoyed the phenomenon from the cozy warm comfort of my apartment.
Some joked about how the kids were missing out on the true joy of a snow day, which is the cancellation of school and getting to stay home. The world has truly turned upside down and to prove it, it snowed in Austin.
On January 6th, some Christians celebrated Three Kings Day, to commemorate when the three wise men brought gifts to baby Jesus. I’ve never observed this celebration, but I thought it was fitting that the two democratic Georgian senators, Warnock and Ossoff, officially won their elections on this day. There were many factors that led to their success, but I give much credit to that Black Girl Magic Powerhouse, Stacey Abrams. They were my secular three kings–or more precisely one queen and two kings–delivering the control of The Senate to the Democrats.
But that fabulous news was washed out by a lame duck presidential-inspired coup attempt at The Capitol. An angry mob of mostly white people broke windows, doors, smeared feces, fought with capitol police and all other manner of violence, which did not reflect any respect for law and order, nor did they appear to believe that blue lives mattered. They only cared about disenfranchising millions of Americans who voted for Biden and Harris.
Thanks to the mostly maskless insurrectionists, the FBI, along with the help of people on social media, have been identifying many of those criminals. Even though many of the insurrectionists were placed on the “no-fly list,” some made their way back to their home, only to be arrested by local law enforcement.
In the meantime, Democrats and some Republicans began talking about impeaching the president-reject for a historic second time despite him having only two weeks left in office. He still could run for office again and would be entitled to a pension. The second impeachment sought to prevent that–among other things. Once the Democratic-controlled House impeached him for a second time, I began thinking of how to craft a cocktail worthy of observing the occasion.
I didn’t think that peach and mint would actually go well together, but I had to experiment with it anyway.
Or be drunk to drink it. Either way, there was only one way to find out.
I cut up a few mint leaves, followed by a double shot of schnapps.
The minty taste was subtle, which was why I didn’t muddle the leaves. An alternative method was violently and pleasurably ripping up those mint leaves, which hurts no one and helps make a cocktail. Then, I tossed in a few ice cubes.
The next evening, I took my niece’s advice and added fresh lime juice.
The next evening, I took my niece’s advice and added fresh lime juice. That was definitely the right call. Now once the Senate starts impeachment proceedings, I’ll already have my cocktail ready. I don’t usually celebrate anything Congress does, but life’s unusual during a pandemic.
On the first Monday of 2021, I received two things that I’d been expecting for a while, which I hope doesn’t mean my good fortune has peaked too soon. After being in a pandemic along with all its accoutrements, January 4th felt like a holiday grande finale. The government stimulus had been deposited, then later on, I got my Christmas box from one of my sisters. I blamed both delays on the same entity: The federal government. Specifically, the White House-inspired federal government.
USPS had been backed up for months, thanks to the outgoing lame duck president’s beef with Jeff Bezos, which then affected every other thing that depended on the postal service, including mail-in ballots and Christmas presents.
Although I hardly ever ask for anything I want for Christmas since I buy my own gifts, I told one of my nieces she could compensate me for editing all her graduate school essays by sending me Obama’s latest book. Yet, since I was the last one to receive a Christmas box from her family, I’d learned that my niece had given my other sister Obama’s book. I was beside myself. My sister hadn’t done anything that earn that book. Granted, that’s not how gifts work. When I tore off the penguin gift wrapping, I beheld my copy of A Promised Land. Whew…family feud averted.
Since being in quarantine for ten months, that second stimulus payment,
which was half of the first payment, could have arrived a week earlier, but at the last moment, the lame duck wanted to flex a little muscle and demanded more than double the first payment. As par for that reality TV president, it was all for political drama and his personal business gain.
Topping off my fabulous Monday, I had one of the best days at work in weeks. If I were a superstitious person, I’d conclude that my good luck New Year’s Day dinner came through for me. Or those 12 grapes I ate at the stroke of midnight. Just every now and again, it’s my turn to have an exceptional day.
Dad is a man of few words. Mom’s just the opposite. So, on this rare occasion, Dad took the conversational lead to tell me about when he got his first pair of shoes as a child–a big accomplishment since money was scarce. Of course, this doesn’t mean that Mom remained silent the whole time.
If I’d been absolutely oblivious to the fact that I lived in a capitalist country, I would know it without a doubt with all these offers to buy New Year’s Eve tickets. As if I need to pay money to sit at home, drink my own alcohol while looking at a screen. And for those fatalistic entrepreneurs who actually think that I’d pay the few pennies I’ve managed to scrape up during the pandemic only to spend them on an in-person social event to contract the very virus that’s turned the world upside down, well they can go fuck themselves.
I started planning my NYE celebration a week ahead of time, starting with the menu. This was before I ever bothered to read any of those emails, which advertised NYE dinners for two that ran anywhere from $175 and up. There was no way I’d even pay for half of that tab. Instead, I researched recipes for the auspicious meal I’d have on the first day of January 2021.
For the gold representation, symbolic of wealth, I baked cornbread on Wednesday with my favorite embellishments: creamed corn, two types of cheeses (sharp cheddar and Monterey Jack), green chilies and brown sugar. For the green representation, symbolic of American money, I made a spicy tomato-based collard greens dish on Thursday. Then on Friday, New Year’s Day, I made salmon croquettes. In some traditions, they bake a whole fish. Since this was all edible superstition, I improvised.
As a matter of fact, I even bought green grapes, soaked 12 of them in honey-flavored Jim Beam since some South American cultures eat 12 grapes to make 12 wishes, one for each month, at the stroke of midnight for good luck. The addition of whiskey was my own twist because why not?
For New Year’s Eve, I woke up a bit earlier than the previous work days during the two-week Christmas-Kwanzaa-NYE stretch.
I planned to work half a day only because I hadn’t hit my bonus the day before. There was no way I wanted to ruin my 3-day weekend by logging on just to hit a bonus. Technically, I had until Monday, but I’d worked more than five hours on some days and not made progress toward the bonus. I definitely didn’t want to risk waiting until the last day.
After hitting bonus, I took my regularly scheduled midday Inferno Hot Pilates class, cooked lunch and then popped open my favorite bottle of special occasion red wine, which I planned to polish off within a few hours of slow sipping.
Just before I tuned into the NYE TV show that took me into 2021, I changed into a party dress and put on lipstick and earrings.
At least I can say that I wore my favorite salsa dress once in 2020.
Soon afterwards, I changed into my PJs.
By this time, I sipped the whiskey to liberate my grapes when the time came. At the stroke of midnight, I ate each grape, thinking of a wish. I probably said the same ones more than once because I didn’t write them down first. Nonetheless, we’ll see how 2021 turns out.
2021 began like a normal Friday except I had the day off.
I read, wrote and watched TV until my midday yoga class, then enjoyed my New Year’s Day meal altogether. The only thing I hadn’t cooked were the bacon-flavored black eyed peas. Good enough was good enough, especially when surrounded by homemade deliciousness.
I followed up my early dinner with dessert:
fresh blueberries and honey-flavored Jim Beam salted caramel sauce. May the rest of the year taste as sweet and luscious.
If anyone’s irresponsible enough to tell their kids that Santa’s coming to town in 2020, I just hope they update that creative lie by incorporating how Santa’s visiting everyone’s homes safely during the plague. Of course, the beauty of lies is that they aren’t confined to the truth, so there’s a lot of room for invention.
Unfortunately, there was a superspreading Santa who infected about 50 people at a mall. Just in time for the holidays! Even people who attempted to evoke the spirit of Christmas by mailing off packages early were thwarted. The combination of “monster snow storms,” as nearly every news station called it and the “mission of the century,” another media-spun appellation, which actually referred to the coronavirus vaccine distribution, slowed down the delivery of Christmas packages.
At least I still got my Christmas cooking on.
This was the first time in decades that I was not home for the holidays, so I actually looked up some Christmasy recipes for a change of pace. First up: Butternut Brussels Cranberries and Pecans. Seriously. The main ingredients were all in the recipe name. The worst part was cutting up my hand to dice up that squash. The sacrifice was worth it, though. I baked all the veggies, toasted the pecans in a skillet and put it all together when the veggies were ready.
Next up: Roasted Beet Salad.
The star of this dish had to be washed, rubbed in olive oil, sprinkled with kosher salt then roasted in the oven for nearly an hour. Beets are unattractive vegetables that are absolutely beautiful when cut up. Since I’d worked with them before, I knew to cut them up in the metal baking pan rather than on my plastic cutting board. I mixed fresh squeezed lemon juice with fresh cracked black pepper and toasted sesame seed oil. Then tossed in the baby spinach, carrots, added the beets, and sprinkled feta on top. I loved the beautiful colors. Everything slowly turned purple as I ate this salad.
Technically, I could have logged on to work on Christmas Eve, but why should I tempt Christians to cuss me out? Instead, I got in on some of the cursing myself during my attempt to make figgy pudding, which turned out to be a cake, not pudding–damn Brits! The misnaming of the dessert was the tip of the annoyance iceberg. The aggravation continued as I hand chopped the figs, which stuck to the knife. If I ever make this recipe again, I’ll complete this step the day before and follow Mom’s advice to use scissors instead of a knife.
Grinding the cinnamon and nutmeg, followed by grating the orange peel were comparative walks in the park, but chopping up two mini croissants taxed my hand since it was already pre-fatigued from the figs. The rest of the batter came together easily.
Until I poured it into the bundt pan, which sat in a deep baking pan. Since I had to create a hot water bath, I transferred six cups of hot tap water, two cups at a time, into the pan. Then, lucky me had to lift that entire weighty apparatus and place it into the oven–for 2 hours!
I sipped honey-flavored Jim Beam as I waited for it to slowly cook.
Originally, I needed any ol’ whiskey in order to make the hard sauce. I bought canned salted caramel frosting and mixed in the Jim Beam. Pure perfection. Of course I added a wee too much alcohol for a frosting texture, but certain not too much for the taste nor a “saucy” texture.
By the time the cake was done, I was too anxious to try it.
I waited the requisite 10 minutes before removing it from the bundt pan, but I didn’t bother to let it cool before adding the drunken sauce. Rarely do I encounter a visual hot mess. Again, the two together were delicious. I transferred the cake to another plate, poured the sauce back into a container and placed both into the refrigerator.
In the meantime, the poinsettia chocolate cake I ordered for my parents, my sister and her son, arrived safely on Christmas Eve.
They reported that it smelled and tasted as delicious as it looks, which was a good thing given how much that edible beauty cost!
I had my Christmas morning all planned out, which is why it went sideways straight out of the gates. What was supposed to happen was a virtual 8 AM yoga class, hop in the shower, start my breakfast hash brown casserole, then jump on a Zoom call with my family. What actually happened was 15 minutes into my yoga class, the electricity went out, taking my internet connection with it. Since I’ve been doing Bikram for about 20 years, I knew the routine by heart, but human interaction was gone.
I’d just started to put away my yoga things and gear myself up for a potential cold shower.
Like a Christmas miracle, the electricity returned. I postponed my shower in order to make the casserole. Fortunately, this recipe merely consisted of stirring the ingredients together and grating cheese. Very low prep stuff. I popped the casserole into the oven, then hopped into the shower.
I joined the family Christmas Zoom call a few minutes late, but I didn’t turn on my camera. I don’t like eating over Zoom and I dislike when people, ie Mom, questions about what she sees in the background, which was why I normally sit in my massage chair that has a wall behind it. I ignored requests to turn on my camera before I was ready. As a matter of fact, I had sent a warning text that I’d join the call 30 late since the electricity had cut. Not a soul seemed concerned about that. Nor the fact that I’d managed to join the call sooner than I’d originally anticipated given the electricity hiccup.
I mostly listened in to the call, muting myself while I was eating, washing the dishes and brushing my teeth. By the time I finally turned my camera on, one of my sisters kept trying to wrap the call up. One of my previous complaints during our Thanksgiving family Zoom call was how early it took place. Since they’re all on the East Coast and I’m in Central time, they get an extra hour to get their acts together. Nonetheless, we still started the call at the same damn time. Then, all the sports fans bid their good byes and caught whichever game enticed them off the family call.
On Boxing Day, I packed up a magazine, my favorite specialty wine and leftover breakfast casserole and had lunch with a friend, her husband and fur babies.
This beautiful display was the only time during this whole holiday season I was in the same room with a Christmas tree. All the others I’d only seen on TV.
Ten months under quarantine, but at least I survived long enough to see another Christmas. Perhaps “Santa” will eventually bring my presents, which were sent mid-December. Either way, Rona nor The Grinch has not stolen my Christmas–the spirit of Christmas as been inside me this whole time. At least that’s what all the seasonal movies have told me.
In the past, one of my writing friends hired me as a sensitivity reader, specifically to focus on how she handled racism in her last manuscript.
She was so impressed with the critique that I gave her, she encouraged me to promote myself professionally as a sensitivity reader.
Of course, I’ve not followed up with that, but she hired me again. This time, she copied and pasted several scenes from her current manuscript, which totaled 12 pages. She offered to pay me via an electronic service. Instead, I told her to order a bottle of under $20 Malbec and have it delivered to my place.
She did better than that!
Since the grocery store was going to charge her a delivery fee for a mere bottle Malbec, she added her favorite bottle of Merlot and some holiday cookies as well for free delivery. Way to upsell! I also like to think that I’m worth it.
The package was scheduled to be dropped off between 6–8 PM, so I listened out for a knock since I would have to show my ID to accept an alcohol delivery. By the time I finished cooking and started eating dinner, I’d forgotten about the delivery.
The next morning, my roommate found the package sitting outside our front door before she took her morning walk. Apparently, it had sat outside all night. Even though I was impressed that my apartment complex was safer than I thought, I’ve learned my lesson not to wait for a knock on the door. Actually, my thinking at the time was that it would be placed in the package hub near our mailboxes, but that wasn’t the case either.
In previous years, this was the season for so-called “porch pirates.” Perhaps my package was safe because we rarely have anything delivered to our door, thanks to the package hub. Nonetheless, with the added stress of inflated unemployment due to the plague, more people have been stealing food. Not that wine and cookies are a balanced meal, they’re still edible.
In a strange way, this was my Christmas bonus. An everyday reminder that Christmas was coming with each sip of wine.
Last year, I volunteered for the CCBFF for the first time because I had never heard of this festival before. This year my very first short film, There’s Always Something, had been selected to participate.
With giddy excitement, I experienced the behind the scenes activities of being selected, starting with participating in a prerecorded panel discussion moderated by one of last year’s winning filmmakers, and five other selected filmmakers. All of us were in the same screening block. Among the six of us, about half of us had not attended film school, but were motivated to document something significant in our lives.
Another wonderful benefit to being selected was my free VIP pass to watch as many films during the 72-hour period as my schedule allowed. I saw back-to-back examples of different approaches to storytelling through film. One short film viewed like a stage play, but was completely accomplished via Zoom.
Most film blocks ended with the filmmakers’ panel discussion. Not all filmmakers had participated, but for the ones who did, they provided the background information on the choices that were made, many were funding based.
On the first evening, the festival provided a virtual happy hour, where participating filmmakers met the founder and CEO, Winston G. Williams. Not only did he welcome us, but he told us that we were forever a part of the CCBFF. Anything we needed from here on out, we shouldn’t hesitate to reach out during and after the festival, we should reach out.
Then, we had the opportunity to talk with other filmmakers in 3 different breakout rooms. My biggest takeaway the next time I participate in a networking happy hour will be to type out a brief paragraph with hyperlinks, so I can copy and paste it into the chat. I composed one on the fly, but that’s something I could have had already prepared had I thought of it.
I copied and pasted the contact information and credentials of the other filmmakers into a Word Doc. At some point, I’m going to organize the information. For real.
In the meantime, I’ve been watching videos from another filmmaker’s YouTube channel. So far, the episodes are reviews of movie trailers and movies. I started with the very first episode and progressed through the collection chronologically. I’m not at the point where I want to have my own YouTube, but I can never say never. Besides, watching videos always give me the opportunity to be productive in between calls as I illustrate.
I trust that while illustrating and watching videos during work, my creative course will flow into my next greatest thing. And at some point, my third book will be completed and perhaps I can fully throw myself into a bigger film project.
