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Decades ago, I started filing my taxes on Super Bowl Sunday. Even though all the tax forms for various employment were in by January 31st, I usually needed a few weeks to wrap my head around hunkering down to file.
In the morning, or after some morning exercise class, I’d sit with a glass of wine and paper copies of all the tax things with the goal of finishing in time for kickoff. Not because of the game itself, but to have a firm deadline.
This year, with the ease of filing electronically, I finished in less than a hour the day before the Super Bowl. The only thing that gave me a moment of pause during the process was whether Elon and Big Balls would see my filing. Even though a judge had temporarily blocked their access to the sensitive information in the US Treasury Department, who can really tell what this presidential shadow government is going to get away with in the end.
Par for the course, the Super Bowl was a boring, one-sided blow out. The commercials were marginally more entertaining, but the halftime show was spectacular. And polarizing.
If all you wanted to do was sing along with music, then this wasn’t the halftime show for you. However, if you were curious of why the NFL choose a Pultizer-prize winning hip-hop artist to perform, then you were captivated.
The opening drone shot of the game-controller markings on the performance space, clued the viewer that another game besides football was about to be played. The metaphor extended from Kendrick Lamar’s personal life to life in the States, or even bigger, the game of life itself.
Zoom in to Samuel L. Jackson introducing himself as “Uncle Sam,” complete with the iconic, patriotic red, white and blue attire. Throughout the musical performance and sleek choreography, which morphed into different, stylishly on-beat, visual configurations, Jackson maintained the narrative thread, reminiscent of an older West African archetype, a griot.
Griots, traditional West African travelling poets/musicians, tell historical stories. Like everything transported from the motherland into a foreign land, the role evolved to fit within the confines of 13-minute halftime show. Nonetheless, its inclusion served as a reminder that our history didn’t begin with slavery. Our ancestors had traditions, culture and all the accoutrements of a civilized society very different from their African American diaspora.
Jackson played counterpoint to Lamar, cautioning the younger Black man to “play the game” conservatively by unfolding a story that aligned with the dominate narrative. Lamar did his own thing, which set up, what my English teachers called a “foil.” Mom calls it “being contrary.”
Whatever it’s called, Jackson’s character contrasted with Lamar’s character, highlighting the positions of two political views: the conservative and the revolutionary. In case anyone missed that point, Lamar even announced that the revolution would be televised.
For many, the pinnacle of the show was when Lamar performed his most controversial song in which he accused another rapper of being both a colonizer and a pedophile. As if that wasn’t controversial enough, there’s an ongoing legal battle over that song.
Another battle continued after the halftime show. The angriest people who “didn’t get it” felt entitled to do so. None of that “getting comfortable in their discomfort” or looking up any lyrics they couldn’t hear/understand. They wanted to sing along with songs they already knew, not learn something new.
During a time when DEI initiatives are ending at the federal level and pressured to end in business settings, the entire show was performed by people of color. That, in and of itself, was not the problem.
In the not-so-distant past, minstrel shows had white actors in black face, depicting racial stereotypes, which white audiences found amusing. Actual Black faces confidently playing the game by their own rules with their own jokes was another thing entirely.
However, not everyone was alienated by that. After 50 years of hip-hop, many of us grew up on the genre. Skin tone alone no longer predicts whether a person enjoys hip-hop among the younger generations.
Therein lies the real battle between those who want to return to some alleged idyllic time in the past and those who weren’t alive back then. No one in the history of the world has ever managed to unring the bell of change. As tightly as some cling to the past, the present slips from their fingers.
In the weeks leading up to the Super Bowl, whenever anyone would ask who I was rooting for or who I predicted would win, my answer was the same: Kendrick Lamar. I was right.
I’d been looking forward to this event for weeks. So, when the Meetup host cancelled the event the day before, I didn’t miss a beat. I called the venue. Turns out, I didn’t need a reservation and the price was the same, regardless of whether I was part of a group or solo.
I showed up at the same time I was planning to meet the group. The GM had just opened the place and I was the only one there, which suited me just fine.
After welcoming me and showing me the Rage Room, full of broken things, he asked me to scan a QR code and fill out the waiver. After selling me a Gatorade (he said the “flavors” were “red, orange and blue”), he then escorted me to the A section.
Although he stated that I could throw with one or two hands, I found both hands to be the most comfortable while taking a step with my non dominant foot. I could have also stood behind the red line and thrown an axe without walking into it, a type of granny shot. That felt unnatural.
After a few misses, he coached me to throw a bit harder and the very next throw landed on the target.
For some odd reason, he asked me if I wanted to keep track of my points. I laughed and told him no. Some people compete against themselves for the highest score. Perhaps one day, that’ll be a goal of mine if I take to the game.
I threw at the other target whenever the main one I was using became littered with fallen axes.
Despite becoming more comfortable with the throwing motion, including the grip, I was inconsistent. I could land three axes in a row and bounce the next four. One axe would land close to the bullseye, then nowhere near the painted target.
One thing I knew for sure, I wasn’t leaving until I’d hit the bullseye. Or until he tapped me on the shoulder, telling me that my time was up. I never quite figured out how to aim, but I felt when the axe flew out of my hands incorrectly.
I surprised myself when the axe finally landed on the bullseye. I rang the bell near my lane, strutted to the check-in counter/bar and told him I was done. He told me that I had 13 minutes remaining. Again, I laughed, telling him that I had gotten my money’s worth.
Before I left, I took a picture of the GM’s jeep and my car. Only one of them looked like it was meant to be in the parking lot of such an establishment.
Here’s a clip of the GM coaching me how to throw an axe:
I knew this day would come. Enough snow dropped to cancel my plans for Tuesday and Wednesday evenings, but since I telecommute, I missed nary a day from work. In the long run, that’s a good thing since I’d much rather use my PTO for actual vacation and appointments.
I’m so used to exercising that missing two days in a row felt like much longer than that. At least I enjoyed working on a long-term digital illustration project. I finished the latest one and started the next. About the only silver lining for being snowed in.
At this rate, it’ll take me several years more to complete this project. After all, the better I get at making the illustrations look better, the more time it takes to complete them. Nonetheless, worth it.
I have this dream that as soon as I finishing studying for my pharmacy tech license, I’ll have more time to work on those remaining illustrations. In reality, smaller creative projects always present themselves such as my occasional podcast episodes and my desire to make short films. Especially animation.
On the horizon, I’m going to be the sound effects tech for a play that one of my cousins has written for our family reunion in June. I’m sure that the closer we get to the performance, there will be more of a time commitment.
Then, once I return from my trip-of-a-lifetime to Ghana at the end of July, I’ll be preoccupied with capturing that experience in a series of creative products. Probably all digital since I don’t have patience with handicrafts these days.
Not that I’m really complaining. Juggling creative projects is the primary reason I’m seldom bored. My only stoppers are not having “enough” time and money. As usual and yet, I continue enjoying an interesting life.
Actually, it could be worse. I could be one of the laid-off employees who work in DEI or have prosecuted the insurrections or the president. Those politically affected people have more time on their hands and no job security. May they do something positive and creative. Amen.
For the past few decades, I’d signed off on every email with “Cheers.” This year, I set the intention for the year. Embrace Joy.
There are those who believe that EVERYTHING that happens in one’s life is a choice. That position is as unrealistic as NOTHING is a choice. Between being omnipotent and a perpetual victim, I have made “embrace joy” my motto/affirmation/mediation/fight chant, which I also use as a closing line in all my correspondence. Not just to remind myself, but also to make a gentle suggestion to the recipient.
With the “embrace joy” mindset, I participated in a virtual orientation the day before MLK’s observed birthday for an upcoming two-week trip to Ghana in July. About a third of the travel group will be extended family members.
On the MLK holiday, I started off with waffles and bacon for Dad and me, our special holiday breakfast. Then, since I had the day off, I studied my Pharmacy Tech coursework, which I’d begun mid-September last year and am projected to complete mid-March of this year. Next, I ran a few errands, including getting two passport photos for the Ghana trip.
Looking at February, I will cross another bucket-list item off: axe throwing. Two weeks later, I’ll revisit another activity that I enjoyed for the first time three years ago: indoor skydiving. This time around, I’ll soar to the highest heights instead of just six feet above ground.
As the year unfolds, I will continue doing those things that bring me joy. Especially since I think the peaceful transfer of power has been a concession to the most evil-minded oligarchs who have ruled the States during my lifetime. Time will tell how much is paranoia and how much is foreshadowing.
Nonetheless, if there is a positive pathway through the chaos, which may set barriers in the way for those in my demographic, I will be among those who dare to believe and act that I still have viable choices to make.
Contrasting chaotic choices, the president pardoned all of the insurrectionists, among many other ominous executive orders, bringing us further into the land of Gotham.
For two hours, the electrical grid malfunctioned in the county. Just in time to attend my Sunday morning hot yoga class. Before leaving for class, I asked my father’s caregiver to help me carry our generator out of the garage.
Even though Dad had a fully charged portable oxygen machine, I erred on the side of caution. I didn’t want the caregiver to leave before getting the generator, knowing that my 84-year-old mother couldn’t help me move it. Of course, my sister could have helped later on.
As a matter of fact, my sister was the only one who knew how to work the damn thing. I’d meant to learn how to operate it sooner, but similar to the situation where you’re not motivated to fix the leaky roof when the sun’s shining, I’d forgotten all about doing so until then.
I called my sister and had the caregiver leave her phone number on voicemail. I also texted my sister since I knew she was at Bible study and would attend church immediately following. I figured that in between, she’d explain to the caregiver about how to work the generator.
Then, I gathered my things and drove to yoga. Normally, that’s an uneventful straight shot down the street from my neighborhood. Without electricity, even for the traffic lights, that short trip was scary.
At the most dangerous intersection, a woman in the left turn lane eased her humongous SUV into the intersection. I gambled that no one on that fine Sunday morning felt fatalistic. The cross traffic respected our presence. She completed her left turn as I continued straight.
Once I safely arrived at the studio, the instructors all proudly announced that classes would continue. They assured us that since the previous class was hot, our class would at least be warm.
Given the power of cell phones, they all had flashlights and our yoga instructor still connected her phone to the portable speaker. The harsh glare of the emergency light made visibility possible and we still had a strong, crowded practice of motivated yogis.
On the drive back home, there were still no police directing traffic at the busiest intersection, but as soon as I’d safely transversed, I became far more hopeful since the next traffic light worked. As I neared home, I couldn’t tell whether the lights had returned in my neighborhood until I arrived home. I’d purposely left the breezeway light on. It was off.
Dejected, I checked in with Dad and the caregiver before attempting to take a phone-lit shower. When the caregiver informed me that my sister had not called her to explain how to work the generator, I silently fumed.
I took a deep breath, trying not to allow the good vibes from yoga dissipate so soon. My mind mulled over how my sister didn’t apply any of her Christian-ness and “charity begins at home” to the emergency situation at home.
Although Dad’s portable oxygen machine had enough juice until she’d arrived, what if the caregiver had needed to move him from upstairs? The chair lift would have needed the generator to work.
The electricity returned as I calmed myself down. Since no emergency arose during the outage, I knew there was no reason to address why she hadn’t contacted the caregiver. She would have just brushed it off, causing me to get angry all over again.
One of the best things about being an older adult with a temper is that I both accept my limitations and minimize interactions that would flare my temper. Also, I accept that my sister wouldn’t have reconsidered her actions based on hypothetical harm that Dad may have suffered.
After all the internal drama, I watched several videos to learn how to work that antiquated generator. Mindfulness is not merely being meditative in a yoga class. It is also being aware that when the electricity is on, that’s the perfect time to learn a new lifesaving skill.
As soon as I heard the 2024 presidential election results, one of my conclusions was that, as things unfolded, the most “you can’t make this shit up” chaos would reign. The closest approximation to such a reality that I found was the Batman Multiverses. Since I’m not a time nor dimension traveler, I’m considering the next four years to be my life in one of Batman Universes.
Around November 2024, I started reading A Year with No Sugar. One behavior I adopted since then was to avoid high fructose corn syrup (HFCS). The author went nuts and did away with ALL sugar, finding it in meats, gravies and other unexpected places.
Years ago, I stopped eating all so-called breakfast foods because of the ridiculous amount of sugar found in all of them. I’ve only recently started buying instant oatmeal again for the cholestrol-lowering properties, but may start buying plain oatmeal and just adding my own mix-ins.
At end of the book, there were recipes. Normally, I don’t cook. I just forage leftovers from Mom’s and my sister’s cooking. Since I’m not a picky eater and an omnivore, I make out pretty well. Yet, since vacation PTO was right around the corner, I baked Apricot Date Lemon bars, which I thought were delicious. My family all politely tried it and didn’t care for it. More for me!
The only other thing I made, which was part of the New Year’s Day good luck meal, was my favorite version of cornbread: monterey jack cheese, sharp cheddar cheese, whole corn kernels, and green chilies. Since the pandemic, I can no longer find hot green chilies, so the mild ones had to make do. For this recipe, I used three tablespoons of agave since we had no honey, as the recipe called for. Nonetheless, it turned out delicious.
This paired well with the black-eyed peas that my sister made and the other auspicious foods that Mom made: tomato blunder, ham fried rice and collard greens.
Speaking of “green,” the president-elect wants to buy or conquer Greenland, which the Danish government says isn’t for sale; wants to rename The Gulf of Mexico, “The Gulf of America;” and wants to annex Canada, making it the 51st state.
After months of planning, one of my Austinite friends and I met up at a halfway point in Elizabethtown, NC. Although he and his partner had recently purchased a plot of land in VA, they transformed a bus into a mobile tiny home and drove to a quiet beach in NC for the winter.
My friend chose the restaurant since he follows a vegan diet. My sister, nephew and I are omnivores, so we definitely found something delicious. Starting with the wine.
My sister and I both got a wine flight, consisting of five choices. As much as possible, I avoided sweet wine. My sister was the opposite. I often tease both of my sisters and mother of liking “alcoholic Kool-aid.” Only my nieces, other nephew and I have a good wine palate.
My first three wine choices were no brainers: Merlot, Cab, and Red Blend. I included the Pinot Gris only because the description included the word “spice,” even though I’m not a white-wine drinker. My last choice was the worse, Noble Muscadine. I’ve created a new foodie rule: never order/buy any wine that includes the word “war” in its description.
During lunch, my friend and I reminisced about the non-profit where we met. I was so surprised that he still volunteers with them once a week remotely. In general, we’d both moved on and continued to pursue happiness. I shared with him my creative projects: filmmaking, blogging, digital illustration, and podcasting.
He and his partner are doing their best to reduce their carbon and plastic impact, among other things, which is why they are going to develop their land in an eco-friendly bed and breakfast with a vegan menu.
At the mention of veganism, my sister and I shared how Mom had made vegan potato salad for our niece during Christmas. My sister had also made a Christmas batch of vegan egg rolls, which she offered to make for my friend’s bed and breakfast once it was up and running. I’m holding both parties to that future plan.
After lunch, we toured the hallway, which was covered with celebrity-autographed photos. My friend and I posed with Snoop Dogg. Then, we said goodbye to my friend and took a stroll around the area where some animals were.
We didn’t get close enough to get spat on, but I may have to implement the strategy female llamas use when they aren’t interested in a male. New year, new strategy!
On Monday before Christmas Day, I gifted my family the nonmaterialistic event I’d written, directed and produced. I even hired a performer to help bring the event to life.
The biggest gift I gave myself was end-of-the-year PTO. Last year was the first time since resigning as a classroom teacher that I had a paid Christmas/Kwanzaa/New Year’s vacation. I wanted to recreate that luxury of vacation time this year.
Last year, Christmas was on a Monday, so there was no issue about working either Christmas nor New Year’s Eve. This year, Christmas lands on a Wednesday. I got December 16th-January 1st off, but I still have to work the Eve of both Christmas and New Year’s. Unless I win the PTO lottery for either one or both of the eves while on vacation.
A week before my vacation started, the Strange family had its virtual bimonthly Sunday meeting, which ended with a Christmas celebration. After a round of reminiscing about our most memorable Christmas, we got to my favorite part: the Kahoots game. The game theme wasn’t “Christmas,” but rather “Strange Family History.”
Regardless of theme, I became very competitive once we got going. Took me a while to get on top, but once I was there, no one knocked me off. So, true to my game-nickname, I slayed. One of my sisters, with the stripper game-nickname, came in second. Third place went to one of my first cousins.
The following weekend, my dance studio hosted its annual Christmas student/teacher showcase. As usual, I brought a bottle to share and was a most enthusiastic audience member. For past showcases, I’d brought wine, but was the only one who drank it. This time, I brought a bottle of eggnog and STILL, hardly anyone touched it. They are truly a cocktail crowd, which is hard to compete with since there were four different Christmas-themed cocktails on tap.
I broke out with my red corduroy pants and Christmas sweater with a Santa hat fascinator. Yet, the performers, for the most part, went the extra mile with their costumes: Krampus, the Grinch, Ms Claus(es), fur-lined lingerie.
Once again, my dance instructors mildly bugged me about performing. After all, I’d been taking classes for over two years and attended classes about three times a week; so it made sense that they’d want a dedicated student to participate in the showcase.
I shared with my stretch and flexibility teacher, shown above in a very flexible pose, that once I finally got a certain back-flexibility challenging pose, that I’d participate in a showcase. The catch: she’d have to help me figure out how to achieve getting to that point. I’d actually write a piece to go along with the performance as well. If i’m going to participate in a showcase, might as well show out!
The vacation truly began on Monday when I slept in, then baked Tomato Basil Herring mini quiches. After breakfast, I had an eye appointment, where, for the first time in years, I was fitted for contacts along with my newest pair of (birth control) glasses.
Once I finished with my appointment, I dropped by the nail salon. As I suspected, they were not crowded at all. Some of the women looked absolutely bored. Perfect. I kept dozing off even though I was listening to an audiobook. The tricky part came when I kept nodding off during the manicure. At least I didn’t fall out of the seat or bang my head on the plexiglass, a remnant of a COVID restriction.
The next morning, I took my car in to get the tires filled with nitrogen gas, so the tire pressure wouldn’t fluctuate significantly along with the temperature. I used that time to do my daily pharmacy tech lesson. I was almost finished once the mechanics were. I stayed about ten minutes longer to finish the lesson and then I hit the road.
I stopped for lunch since I usually eat between 12 and 1:30. I kept looking for a highway sign for Chipotle, but never saw one. I ended up exiting when I saw a sign for Panera, which I didn’t find because I found a Chipotle instead. Go figure.
About an hour after that pit stop, the combination of food coma, highway hypnosis and the lulling sounds of my audiobook made it almost impossible for me to stay awake. I pulled over for a very quick power nap. After all of five minutes of just resting my eyes at a gas station, I felt much more alert. For the last leg of the drive, I switched to music instead of listening to the audiobook, despite how interesting the book was.
As soon as I entered my sister’s house, I grabbed a fresh-out-of-the-oven vegan pistachio cookie…only four ingredients! My niece has been a vegan for years and I may have to meet her halfway since I’ve recently given up HFCS (high fructose corn syrup). Not all sugar. Just the form that is the most poisonous. Anything to avoid diabetes.
Once my sister came home, we started watching the latest action-adventure Christmas movie while eating pizza: vegan, veggie and omnivore. During that time, I learned they had an interesting way of movie-watching. Whenever a scene evoked conversation, they’d pause the movie, discuss, then resume the movie.
On my first full day of out-of-town vacation, everyone was out of the house to report for work by 7:45 except for me. I stayed in my PJs all day long, studying, reading and working on three creative projects. The only thing that I didn’t have was beach waves to periodically gaze at. Occasionally glancing at a muted TV was a poor substitute.
Around 7 PM, my sister and I left for a line dancing class. I don’t care for that genre of dance class, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d taken one. Besides, I knew this would be the only exercise I got while visiting.
My sister, like me, preferred to be in the front row and we misstepped our way throughout the hourlong class. Just like before, once the complicated steps seeped into muscle memory, I was no longer mentally engaged in the dance even though the song wasn’t over.
I’ve heard that the best thing about line dancing is infusing the movements with your own flavor, but for me, “flavor” comes with freestyling to music. Not doing the same series of steps throughout the entire song.
Nonetheless, I got a good workout, breaking out in a sweat from the warmup and maintaining that heat until we fled at the official end of class. Some stayed afterwards to practice another dance, but I told Renee I was ready to go.
The only thing that slowed down our departure was the Christmas display. Since I’d bothered to change out of my PJs, I had Renee to pose with me before we left.
The next day, my niece and nephew stayed home because they only worked for their parents part-time: Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. They went about their chores as I studied and juggled creative projects. I’d worn my thick, comfy Santa and Rudolf pants along with a comfy red pullover. They doubled as both my PJs and leisurewear. Good thing too because the only time I stepped foot outside to start up my car, which was 15 years old and wanted to make sure the battery didn’t die in the cold weather.
At night, one of my first cousins came over for the briefest “popcorn call.” She stayed long enough to hug everyone in the house and hand me two envelopes, one for each of my parents. When I asked my cousin where my envelope was, she said my gift was the love of seeing her in person.
For only the second time during my visit, I changed out of my PJs to run a few errands with my sister, then to visit with one of our cousins. We didn’t have a chance to warm up the space with our presence before she’d poured me a glass of Chardonnay. Although I warned my sister that she wouldn’t like it since Chardonnay wasn’t sweet. Of course she had to sip from my glass.
On the way over to her house, I got the bright idea to interview her for “Strange Family Folklore,” a podcast I started in 2020, interview descendants of my great-grandfather, Jesse Strange. Although my cousin had never listened to a single episode, she readily agreed to be interviewed. She made a few digs at Mom’s and her aunt’s age, along with a few barbs directly toward the president of the Strange Family Association.
Next stop: my sister’s longtime friend. Since my sister has low-visual acuity, I drove at night during that crazy DC-Maryland traffic. Even going ten miles over speed limit made me the slowest driver. Yes, I stayed in the right lane unless absolutely necessary.
After talking for a bit, we placed two orders of fried catfish at two different places to see which one had the best. The one that tasted the best, had the smaller pieces of catfish with delicious hushpuppies. The other had tasty, large catfish with delicious french fries. All in all, it was an enjoyable meal, conversation, followed by a sippable tequila that had a hint of cinnamon taste.
For some inexplicable reason, we felt compelled to watch a Christmas movie. I appreciated the effort to watch a movie with all-Black cast, but the movie we watched wasn’t one of the classic gold-standard Black Christmas movies. As a matter of fact, the most hilarious thing about the movie was that my sister and her friend couldn’t distinguish the actors. I laughed and accused them of not being able to tell Black people apart.
True to form, my sister fell asleep periodically throughout the movie. Yet, we HAD to stay until the movie ended. The best thing about watching a sorry movie is that none of us cared that we missed any of the dialogue while we were dissing it.
So on the last night of my visit, the coldest night, my sister, niece and I went out on the town, namely the MGM and then the National Harbor. I didn’t find the Christmas decorations all that spectacular at the MGM, but made the best of it.
My sister, who used to be a modeling enthusiast (at 5’4″, she could not, back in the day, be too serious about it), alway knows how to strike a pose no matter how average the display.
Once we got to the harbor, the hawk was definitely out. Usually, wearing my Santa hat with my dreads over my ears was enough to keep everything warm, but that wind from the river whipped up under everything. By the time we left the restaurant, I doubled up on my headgear and kept the hawk away. At least from my ears.
The combination of fresh air and a delicious meal of lobster bisque, steak salad and a cocktail, helped me get the best night’s sleep. Going to bed after 1 AM couldn’t have hurt either.
After breakfast, I hit the road. Back to my reality. My vacation away from home proved to be very relaxing and productive. I slept in every day, finished a video project, continued studying for my pharmacy tech license. All the while spending time with my sister and (extended) family. I enjoyed every minute of it.
*When I logged on to work on NYE morning, I was pleasantly surprised to discover that my schedule read “PTO.” I took a screenshot of my schedule to email to my supervisor and team lead as to why I logged on for a hot second. Then, I went about enjoying another day off in my pajamas.
Continuing my newfound tradition of non materialistic Christmas gifts for my family, I brainstormed what to do before Thanksgiving. The coordination of anything I plan always has several parameters, which greatly narrow down my choice of activities. So, I’m not overwhelmed by many possibilities, but threading the needle proves to be very challenging.
The first challenge: choosing the date. My sister periodically swoops into town with her family. They spend the least amount of time, doing the most during that time. Part of their goal is to cap how much money spent on a hotel. Also, they’re so busy with their own lives that they have to arrange their visit around all that.
This year, I took the week of December 16th through 20th off. So, I initially kicked around the idea of doing something with her family as my gift, and then doing something separately for my parents, other sister and nephew who live in town.
Although I could have found two separate activities within my budget, another goal for my non materialistic gifting is for the family to experience the activity together.
Before I went too far into the weeds about a venue on December 23rd, a crazy idea came to mind. What if the performance took place at home? Given the fact that our living room is a small performance space, I could hire one, no more than two people, to perform. Especially if I removed the coffee table. The biggest opposition to that plan would be Mom. She can be funny about doing things like that for any number of reasons, not all of them logical, but definitely emotional.
So, the morning I brought up the subject, I had rehearsed all the responses to the rejections I could think of. Imagine my surprise when she readily agreed to host the performance. Christmas Miracle Number One.
I happily shared the good news with my out-of-town sister. Since I still hadn’t been granted the day off, I tentatively set the event start time for 5 PM.
The next hurdle: finding a performer who was available that day. Despite the recommendations, either a performer couldn’t work that day due to vacation, wasn’t performing over the holidays, or just flat out didn’t return my email.
I went through several iterations of performances. The two obvious off-the-table performers were magicians and clowns. After all, I wasn’t producing a child’s birthday party even though the very celebration was Jesus’ birth.
By sheer luck, as I entered dance class, two other dancers were leaving. One asked me how I was doing. Instead of giving the patent answer, “fine,” I told them, in one long, frustrated breath, how I was actually doing. In my final gasp, I asked if they performers.
One woman admitted she was; so I asked if she was available on December 23rd. When she said yes, I offered her an amount of money for an hourlong performance. She readily agreed. Christmas Miracle Number Two.
Then, started the mad scramble to find a short Christmas play, short story, or collection of poems that I could adapt and intersperse with some of my favorite R & B Christmas songs. Finding the music was the easy part.
Every Christmas play/story/poem was either too serious for my parents’ temperaments, too juvenile, or had outdated references that wasn’t worth my time to update. After all, if I was going to do that much updating, I might as well write my own show.
Yes, that WAS foreshadowing. Three days later, as I casually sipped eggnog, I wrote out a four-page script, which incorporated all the R & B Christmas songs I’d selected except for Mariah Carey’s “All I Want for Christmas Is You.” I like the song, but had used it in last year’s Christmas show that I’d produced. Christmas Miracle Number Three. (I’d tempted fate last year, stating that I’d not produce another Christmas show.)
Christmas Miracle Number Four occurred the day after I’d secured a performer. I’d won the PTO lottery and had received December 23rd off. So, I moved up the event start time to 3 PM, which fit everyone’s schedule much better.
Since both the performer and I were out of town the week leading up to the event, I kept things super simple because, if all else failed, I’d have to do the whole shebang myself. I’d tried to remove myself from the show as much as possible, but I’ve got to play the songs that feature throughout the performance.
My bound and gagged my inner critic on Monday to finalize the script edits. Then on Wednesday, I finished editing the music clips, which I texted her, so she could practice her choreography.
Since she left on a cruise on Friday, we rehearsed over the phone on Wednesday for about an hour. The next rehearsal was tentatively scheduled for Sunday, the day after she’d return and the day of my return. Somehow, I wasn’t the least bit nervous or stressed because I’d already done the challenging part.
As a matter of fact, no matter what, I’m going to have a relaxing vacation. Simply removing myself from the drudgery of the Christmas shopping hamster wheel is another gift to myself.
