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Over the years, I’ve attended many Friendsgivings since I’d lived apart from my family for many years where I didn’t travel back home for Thanksgiving. Sometimes, those events were also called “Orphans’ Thanksgiving,” in which case, the adults who attended weren’t traveling to be with their relatives for the holiday.
In all those years, I’d never attended a religious-sponsored celebration. Mom claimed that she’d never even heard of it before.
Since this event was sponsored by a church, it began with an all-male choir singing a selection, a scripture reading, a welcome message and prayer, followed by a few games.
Everyone was given a ticket. For each game, several participants’ tickets were called to play a game. I knew my ticket wouldn’t be called. I’ve scientifically proven that my ticket would hardly ever be pulled in such event. That conclusion was established years ago when I attended a Bat Ecology Workshop. There were 14 prizes and 15 participants. Guess who didn’t get a prize?
Mom’s ticket was called for the first game. She and five others had to wear a blindfold, put a plate on their head, and trace their non dominant hand to make a turkey. Just so happened that Mom’s dominant arm had been feeling weak, so she asked to be replaced. Of course, she attempted to volunteer me. First Lady, who hosted the event, didn’t pick up on Mom’s effort and simply pulled another ticket.
They played a few more games before dinner. Since Mom’s the church mother, i.e. the oldest female member, our table was called first. I INHALED my plate. I’d taken a Barre class in the morning and the beast was starving. That’s the best condition to be in for catered food.
The next Thanksgiving dinner will be held at one of my sister’s in-laws’ house. Unlike last year, both Mom and Dad will be able to attend since we have more infrastructure in place such as an electric wheelchair and a wheelchair accessible van. Those are going to be my reasons for being thankful for the celebration this year. Neither one was able to attend last year, so the holiday was somewhat muted.
When I was a child, the best part of Thanksgiving was all the special food we ate during the holiday. Now, what I’m really looking forward to is spending time with extended family–most of them.
Months ago, a friend had recommended a tequila brand to me. I figured the impending presidential race, along with all the other elections that were advertised ad nauseum on many different outlets, warranted trying that suggestion. I told people whether it was for celebration or consolation, I’d have it on the ready.
I bought a bottle on Saturday and when the newest episode of SNL came on, I loved the surprise guest.
I went to bed around my usual bedtime, around midnight on election night. I slept fitfully and finally surrendered to the idea of getting up as the sun peeked through my curtains.
My usual morning routine is to turn on my phone and start playing the latest audiobook as I get ready. I only varied that ritual by first looking up the election results.
Despite the momentum with joy, positivity and an eye to the future of one presidential campaign, the vast majority of my fellow Americans voted for the other candidate. Regardless of all the so-call political talk that will merely add to global warming, I believe the conclusion that Van Jones stated before election day: “He gets to be lawless and she has to be flawless.”
One of my consolations was that the self-described “Black Nazi” would not be the next governor of North Carolina. As a matter of fact, many of my liberal Democratic choices won their state elections. And still, when it came to the presidential election, most of my fellow North Carolinians went for the other candidate. Amazing how we could be so liberal when it came to the state politicians but not the national politician.
If the Democratic presidential election results had a theme song, Tye Tribbett’s “Only One Night Tho” would be the tune. On Thursday morning, I texted that song link to friends and family. In response, my family shared inspirational quotes, and my friends “loved” and “liked” the song and shared their positive messaging.
Keeping with positivity, I continued with my usual routine of going to work, studying for my pharmacy tech certification, exercising after work and as far as my tequila went, I sipped it over ice for the first time after swimming on Friday night.
I’d had my one night of bad sleep. I’ve already returned to pursuing happiness and success.
For this year’s Halloween season, I graced several scenes with my best Harley Quinn impression, complete with glitter lips.
My sister convinced me to buy the bat.
First of all, I usually wouldn’t have spent that much on a prop. But she was threatening to buy it for me if I didn’t.
Normally, I would’ve let someone else put their money where their ideas were, but I wanted her to spend her money on something more useful.
She probably didn’t, but at least my conscious was clear.
I got my money’s worth by taking lots of pictures for my first dress up opportunity on the first Saturday in October.
In my book, it’s never too early in the month of October to dress up for Halloween.
Besides, as much money as I dropped for both the costume, accessories and makeup, including glitter, I wanted to grace as many scenes as possible with my rendition of Harley Quinn.
Another reason I was originally on the fence about buying the bat was that I didn’t want to carry around a potential weapon.
Even as light-skinned as I am and during Halloween season, I was (am) paranoid about being a person of color carrying what might be perceived as a weapon.
That’s what today’s times has done to me, regarding my favorite holiday.
Nonetheless, I’m very grateful that I’ve surrounded myself with other women who also nurture their creative inner child.
For my second dress up opportunity, I THOUGHT I was going to a Halloween dance, sponsored by a dance studio and that the cost of admission included a dance class, which, again, I thought would be a salsa lesson although several different dance genres had been advertised by the Meetup organizers.
Since I’d never been to this venue before, I left the bat at home. Too bad I didn’t leave my expectations at home as well.
Turns out that neither of the two Meetup event organizers showed up. The only other Meetup person who did show up, hadn’t originally signed up, but messaged to inquire if the event was still happening. Fortunately, I’d just rolled up and told him that it was still going on, so he bought a vampire costume and came out.
Another disappointment: no dance class. I quietly fumed about that, along with event organizers being MIA, so I didn’t catch on to the fact that the event was sponsored by a local ballroom dance group and not the studio.
As a matter of fact, the group themselves were very welcoming and friendly, which greatly helped turn around my attitude. After the third invitation to join another table rather than sitting by myself, I relocated to a lively table.
One of the guys immediately offered me a “Pumpkin Explosion,” or something like that. I chewed that small orange ball about three times until the alcohol content overwhelmed my mouth. When I asked him which alcohol he’d used, he proudly told me “moonshine” that he’d made himself.
Throughout the evening, I was asked to dance a few times, but never once during the one salsa nor any of the chachas that was on the printed playlist, which conveniently showed the order and genre of songs on the two CDs that played during the evening.
I back-led a chacha for the only other Meetup person who showed up, but I was out of practice. I thought I’d redeem myself when the one samba song that was listed near the end of the second CD. Fortunately, one of the members of the ballroom group helped to manage that expectation. She informed me that that song was for a line dance. A small part of me died inside, but I did the line dance and then left.
I would’ve worn my Harley Quinn costume for a third time the following week, but the weather threatened to be cold, so I chose to wear something warmer since I thought we’d be outside. By the time my sister found out that the Trunk and Treat event would be modified and moved inside, I’d already dressed as “Glitter Pumpkin” (thanks to my glitter lips) to her “Spicy Pumpkin,” and together, we were the Pumpkin Sisters.
Since Halloween fell on a Thursday, all of the places where I took exercise classes had some form of either “Spirit Week” or a Halloween event, at least to encourage us to wear a themed costume leading up to Halloween.
For one such event, I discovered that I had a gap in my wardrobe. Not too surprising since I’d dissed the fashion industry over 30 years ago. All I had to do was dress up in my favorite sports team attire. I’m not a sports fan, and I no longer had a T-shirt from one of the two institutions of higher learning I’d graduated from. The closest thing I had was a religious shirt my sister had given me. I repped Team Jesus.
I normally don’t take a pole fitness class on Tuesdays, but I rearranged my schedule for nearly the entire week.
I was merely going to wear my onesie until I received a text from the instructor, showing the night’s theme.
Since my newfound makeup skill was glitter lipstick, I made up my lips, put on my lashes, and wore fishnets.
Out of all of that, the fishnets were the most impractical since they made gripping the pole with my legs more challenging.
Fortunately, this was a pole-floor choreography class.
I didn’t have to do any climbing up the pole, but I swung a little too much on my right arm.
Although it didn’t bother me during class, I knew I’d pay for it later. The next day was “Glitter and Glow.” Since it had it right there in the name; I glittered up my lips again.
So this is what happens when I sign up for an exercise class at the end of the day on Halloween: no other people show up.
I was happy to get one last chance to be Harley along with my bat.
As soon as I walked in, the woman at the front desk said she’d been waiting all day for someone with a Harley costume.
Not only was she my photographer, but she also ended up taking the class with me as well.
The only other woman who’d signed up for the class hadn’t shown up.
I’m not sure if the front desk woman had intended to take the class or not, but I was glad she was there for moral support.
We had an abridged class, which suited me just fine, considering that they indulged my pre-class photoshoot.
Even so, that class worked the hell out of me.
The magic of those classes is how such a small range of motion and static poses do a tremendous amount of work. Wonder how long it’ll take me to actually transform into a Harley Quinn body?
Early voting in NC occurred on the third Thursday prior to election day. I took that day off, just to show how serious I was. I’d planned to stop by the post office to pick up stamps and then park at the rec center, which was just next door, to vote.
As I pulled up into the nearly full post office parking lot, I mentally prepared myself to stand in a long line, followed by another long line in order to vote. When I entered the post office, I was pleasantly surprised to see only three other customers. Two were already being helped.
One of the postal workers, a Black woman, inadvertently gave me a clue as she complained to her coworker, another Black woman. She voiced her opinion that the police should enforce the parking rules and make early voters park somewhere else.
I just smiled inwardly. Now that I knew there was probably no parking at the rec center, I bought my stamps, put them in my car and walked over to the rec center, joining the long line that would eventually take me about three hours to transverse into a voting booth.
Initially, I was about to stroll past the tail end of the snaking line to enter the side door, where I had previously entered several times before in much smaller elections. Thankfully, I caught myself in time to not cause a scene.
Three hours took its toll on my back, but not my spirits, especially since I listened to the audiobook, Our Hidden Conversations by Michelle Norris, to keep me company. This powerful book about race, shared both the six-word sentences, sent either by postcard or electronically, and described different people’s view of race/racism, with many deep dives into the narratives behind the six-word statements.
That put me into a certain frame of mind as I noticed that most voters in line were people of color with white-appearing people being the minorities. Even the campaigners and poll workers were mostly POC.
Although I wasn’t as hypervigilant as I had been in 2020, with COVID adding to the intensity, I was still more aware of my surroundings than normal when out in public and felt comforted to see other POC exercising their civic duty.
Another reason I didn’t mind the long wait was because my ancestors and allies had endured far worse than standing in a peaceful, slow-moving line in order to vote and secure the rights of others to vote. I didn’t have to pay a poll tax, answer any impossible questions nor any other forms of intimidation.
I hate to even think like this, but I also didn’t have to worry about people purging my name since they couldn’t guess my ethnicity through reading my name.
Inevitably, my eyes landed on two young Black men way ahead of me with towering Afros. They’d given their hair an extra good picking to fluff it out to the limits of its full glory. One had an Afro puff ponytail, while the other had a larger-than-life Afro. The latter sported khakis with a tan suit coat. I presumed they were brothers. They could have been friends.
Nearly three hours later, they were at a voting kiosk, which was divided into four private compartments, catercorner to one another. Despite the additional privacy walls, their beautiful hair loomed over.
Once I entered the rec center lobby, I saw that a senior aerobic class had started at 11 AM. I was proud that they kept moving and was envious of their retirement. The way things sit right now, I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to retire although I voted for the candidates who I believed would give me the best chance of living out my golden years in peace and safety.
After working my way to the table to verify myself and receive my ballot, a woman told me to take my time. I just smiled and nodded. I’d studied the candidates ahead of time, using my sample ballot. I zoomed through my selections, freeing up my booth for my fellow voter to occupy.
A huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Now, I trust there are enough motivated, like-minded citizens who will vote along similar lines. No matter what, we all have to endure the political ads.
For a second time in a row, I attended the only local film festival in town. Unlike last year, there wasn’t another cool event competing during the same weekend; so I was better able to immerse myself into the world of independent film and the creatives who dedicated themselves into the art of filmmaking.
The opening-night featured film was a Luther Vandross documentary. Among my many talents, singing isn’t one of them. I danced in my seat and sang to my heart’s content along with other audience members who knew the words. As amazingly talented Luther was, known for his romantic songs, he died never knowing the love of an intimate partner because he didn’t want the added stigma of being gay. He already battled with being dark-skinned and fluctuating weight. Besides, he felt that coming out would have shamed his mother.
After the movie, many of us strolled down the block to the festival reception. Although I’d come alone, I joined a table of two women, mainly because of the Black woman with the African headwrap who exuded a lot of energy. Turned out that she wasn’t some out-of-town filmmaker, but a fellow yogi who used to attend my Tuesday evening hot yoga class.
I told her that I didn’t recognize her because normally, I didn’t have my glasses on in class. Yet, we swapped stories in a way that we never had in class. I got her contact information once she stated that one of her businesses was buying properties to rent out for high-end Air BnBs. I shared that information with my sister who’d also started buying and fixing up properties.
Soon afterwards, an actor from Durham joined us. In real life, he taught martial arts, but had acted in a horror film that made it in the festival. I told him that was the one genre I no longer watched, but wished him well. If he was half as energetic in that film as he was at the reception, the the film should be quite entertaining despite its genre.
The next morning, my usual plan to sleep in was thwarted because I also wanted to do a few loads of laundry before spending nearly the entire day downtown at the festival. I even bought a “dinner with a director” ticket for $20, figuring that that would be the most inexpensive meal and entertainment during the dinner block.
After all, the whole point for the weekend was to watch independent films and network. Although I didn’t emphasize networking too much, nothing will happen if I’m not in the space to actively do so. What I loved about the dinner was that, like everyone else in this industry, he had to get creative about funding and reached out to a pro athlete. Talk about connections.
Last year, I didn’t watch any films at the Capitol, which I thought was a theatre. I stood corrected. Although the space itself has gone through many different iterations, it was now a school and the screenings took place in an art classroom. I enjoyed both documentary films that I watched in that space, but those folding chairs were something to be desired.
The first documentary film I watched at the Capitol was about a revolutionary professor at my alma mater, Carolina, and playwright who wrote realistically about life in the South for Blacks, which was why he had a challenging time getting them produced in the South. Southern whites hardly ever want to see the ugly side of the so-called genteel South. The playwright himself grew up with Blacks, which was why he could write about their humanity.
The second documentary I saw at the Capitol, played in the last block as an alternative to the horror short films. I thought more people would watch a documentary about several Black women who choose to breastfeed, birthing coaches and doulas, but there were only four of us in the audience. Overall, I liked the documentary even though it seemed a little long. Could have been the time of day or the uncomfortableness of the the chair.
I sacrificed my usual Sunday morning hot yoga class to enjoy the last day of the festival, which kicked off with a members barbecue and awards ceremony. Since it was included in the price of my VIP pass, I knew I’d attend in order to get the rest of my money’s worth.
As I stood in the food line, I scanned the room. Almost made me feel like the new girl at school, looking for a table to join and eat lunch. Turned out, one of the filmmakers at the table I finally sat at welcomed me to the “cool kids table.” That analogy hadn’t been lost on her either.
At that table sat filmmakers who represented four different films. I’d already spoken to two of them previously and had seen all but one of their films. That was part of the magic of such a festival. One of the filmmakers was a professor and had done an animated film.
I whipped out my phone and started jotting down information about which animation program that she’d used. Much to my delight, I learned that I could import digital illustrations from the drawing program that I’d been using for the last four years. Another filmmaker beside me was taking notes from my notes.
In that brief conversation, I’d already thought of a short script that I’d written years ago and could polish up, illustrate and voice. As usual, wearing all the hats myself. It’s not that I’m such a control freak, wanting everything myself. I just feel that I’d have to pay other people to take the project as seriously as I do and in the end, would have to do all the things myself anyway.
I’m going to use the wish to start animating to keep the fires burning on finishing two other projects that I need to complete prior to starting anything else: my aunt’s surprised birthday video and finally finish typing up all my journals.
The former would’ve already been completed had I never started studying for my pharmacy tech license, but the nerd in me absolutely love studying, especially since the company is paying for it and in the long run will put more money in my pocket.
Plus, I don’t want to do a slapdash job of editing the video; so, I’ve taken my time getting everything together. The video want be anything fancy, but at the same time, I want it to be a documentation of the event and an entertaining showcase of embedded pictures.
After the barbecue awards ceremony, I returned to my car to read email on my phone until the first block began in less than an hour.
On Sunday, all the juried award-winning films were shown. I’d seen two out of the three feature films, but none of the short film award winners. They showed two of the featured films back to back, the second one I’d seen before about the first environmental movement that dealt with the inherent racism of burying contaminated wastes in a predominantly Black area. Two of the people who were in the documentary had answered questions about their experience and the making of the film.
As much as I’d enjoyed that documentary, I chose to eat lunch next door at one of my favorite Italian restaurants. I’d eaten there several times before and knew what I wanted. When the server responded to my order, “This will be easy,” I had no idea that she’d bring my drink, drop off my food and disappear until about 20 minutes after I’d finished my meal. I wasn’t in the mood to aggressively flag down another server for a to-go box, but since I’d begun watching a video, I sat there silently fuming.
My server finally returned to drop off the bill. I’m usually a straight up 20% tipper plus I round up to the nearest dollar. I don’t believe in stiffing anyone, so she got around 10%. I honestly believe that servers should be paid a living wage and tips should be eliminated, but for poor service like that, she may not last too long.
I returned to my car to continue watching the video of a property tour that my sister and her family had made of a house that they are renovating to rent. When I finished, I returned to the theatre and caught the last 20 minutes or so of the documentary before the block of award-winning short films played.
Among those films, one was an animation. Those filmmakers managed to tell a touching and compelling story without any dialogue. I’ll have dialogue for mine, but they had a whole team of people working together for their film. As much as I’d love to have that for my animation, I’ll see what I can do with the resources I have.
In a nutshell, the 50% rule says instead of trying to do all the things, do the half that most resonates with you. At first blush, one may think that it’s all about doing a half-ass job, but in reality, I embraced this practice years ago with a different analogy.
During the 2022 Olympics, I sequestered myself at home, due to the pandemic. In addition to watching more TV than ever, I saw more of the Olympics than I ever had. A novel thought overtook me: countries don’t send one olympiad to do everything; they send a team. And every Olympiad participates in events where their talents and skills lie.
After my Olympic revelation, I approached my projects with a more realistic expectation of how much I could achieve in a given amount of time, while also acknowledging that other things must also be accomplished. Although I rarely ask for help, I quieted my inner perfectionist, reminding myself that “done” is better than “perfect.”
What works best for me is to schedule doing things in a small increments of time. For example, during the workday, I get two 15-minute breaks. For the first break, I read a little from four books. The afternoon break finds me working on some creative project or studying. And whatever time I have left over from my hourlong lunch and 15-minute vibration plate workout, I blog.
The weekends are when I have the most time to leisurely work on projects the way I would if I didn’t have a day job. Nonetheless, the biggest priority on the weekends is to rest. May not seem that way since I never just sit and veg. Having an open schedule IS relaxing.
I’ve never thought of how I scheduled my time was doing 50%, though. It’s optimistic to think that things which bring me joy occupy at least 50% of my time. Some days, that allotment feels closer to 10%. Yet, when I look back over all the projects that I’ve completed over my lifetime, I feel blessed to have had the time to get them done and have something to show for my life.
I’d wanted the same friend who’d attended the modified Barre class with me last month to attend the free introductory class with me as well. She told me that she was already paying membership at three places and didn’t want to add a fourth. I threw my head back and laughed.
I enrolled in a 4-class monthly membership, making Barre my fourth. To recap, I have a 12-class monthly membership for pole fitness; a renewable 20-class pass, mostly for hot yoga, although I’ll do an occasional warm or cool class for a different discipline; and a gym membership for access to an indoor pool and usually one hot yoga class and an occasional Zumba or water aerobics class.
Would I love to combine all of those things conveniently under one roof? Of course! And yet, there are seven days in the week and most of those days find me in one exercise setting or another.
The yoga studio I used to be a member of in Austin had a tagline: Yoga Is Medicine. Well, it’s not just yoga. The key is to keep moving and for some of that movement to be in a group setting.
I’d always heard people complain that working from home felt isolating. I avoid that feeling through exercise. I don’t worry too much about non-exercise socializing because that usually isn’t active and costs money.
Adding to the challenge, I’ve recently started the 6-month adventure of studying for my pharmacy technician’s license. As much as I enjoy nerding-out and learning something new, the truth of the matter is that I want to advance either up the food chain or at least make more money in a different position. The cherry on top is that the company is paying for both the course and the exam.
Regardless of my professional ambition, I have to dedicate nearly an hour a day to keep pace with the online program. So far, it’s inviting coursework, which I can do all on my iPad. I manage to get it all done without having to sacrifice any of my workout time.
One of the reasons the “Freshman 15” was a thing was that more time was spent sitting around studying and not eating well. Unlike when I was freshman in undergrad, I schedule exercise classes and even stand on my vibration plate for 15 minutes after lunch, Monday-Friday, just so I can make sure there’s movement once I put my standing desk down for the second half of the work day.
As one retired woman told me at the gym, for the first six months after retirement, she thought she could become a couch potato and relax into her golden years. At the end of six months, she could barely walk without a walker.
I’ll definitely heed her lived example. Although I’ve aged out of certain strenuous activities such as capoeira, mainly because I’ve slowed down and not in the mood to dodge a kick, there are other strenuous activities that will keep me moving for the rest of my life.
In my latest attempt to align my lifestyle with my health goals, I researched what meals are better to eat a few hours prior to working out. Turns out, the egg and avocado pairing that I usually eat every morning is perfect for a light meal. The challenge is that I’m not going to eat that twice in one day.
I had to find something uncomplicated to make in the morning for myself since I also make breakfast for Dad. As a matter of fact, that “eggs every morning” breakfast I prepared was Dad’s expectation. For the sake of simplicity, I cooked enough for the both of us.
Years ago, I’d kicked the vast majority of breakfast foods to the curb, given the sheer amount of diabetes-inducing sugar they all contained. As I’ve gotten older and menopausal, weight gain occurs as seemingly easy as merely looking at food and alcohol.
My canary in the coal mine is my left eye. Ever since I was in middle school, when I started wearing glasses, it has been the weaker of the two eyes. Now my weaker eye has the added phenomenon of experiencing a dull ache whenever I’m too stressed or have consumed too much sugar. My left eye has even gone temporarily blind with an overload of stress.
Most of my stress relief has been exercise, which, up until I hit menopause, also helped with weight management. Now, I’ve entered brand-new territory as I navigate how to maintain an enjoyable and healthy life. Those two pursuits don’t have much common ground.
The goal is to ward off diabetes and other ills through diet and exercise. I already exercise on a regular basis. Plus, I’ve stopped having a daily glass of wine. It’s no longer feasible to buy the large boxes of wine since it goes bad before I finish drinking it.
So, I have oatmeal for breakfast, followed by my biggest meal of the day, lunch, with a light snack for dinner, then a small serving of mixed nuts with dried fruit after working out. I’m still trying to gauge if that post-workout snack has too many calories to sleep on or if weight gain is inevitable regardless. I don’t want to negate the workout, but I cannot go to sleep without a little something to keep stomach growls at bay.
For once, I attended a different exercise class on Sunday mid morning. The cherry on top was that I’d invited a friend who drove us far enough out of town that it could be considered a daytrip.
We set up our yoga mats under a pavilion in the front row, thanks to my aversion to having other people’s feet in my face. Although we were too close to the portable speaker, I easily remedied that by wearing my ever-handy earplugs.
I’d never taken a barre class before, but I was amazed at how the smallest movements created a huge effect. My friend kept saying that she would be very sore the next day. I teased her about approaching the drop-in class as if it were a military exercise. I, on the other hand, took everything in stride. Plus, I use CBD, so I knew that would help alleviate any soreness, especially due to inflammation.
One thing that I found challenging was seeing the food truck in front of us nearly the entire time. As the class progressed, the smell of burgers and fries permeated. I’d eaten breakfast, but that seemed long gone in the middle of that late-morning class.
Since our payment for the barre class included a drink ticket, we put away our yoga mats after class, then claimed our spicy apple ciders. As hungry as I was, I know that wasn’t the only reason that cider was delicious.
With drinks in hand, we waited in line for food. My friend wasn’t hungry, but she kept me company. While standing in line, I did my usual: talk a mile a minute. Even so, I made an effort to mind my own business instead of focusing on the middle aged couple behind us who kept loudly kissing. I figured they weren’t a long-time couple.
After I’d received my order and we’d sat down, I shared my observation about the amorous couple. My friend had overheard them asking one another those basic “first date questions” and had wanted to tell them to get a room. I laughed because I had been tempted to tell him that he’d have to kiss everyone. Or least tell her to hook a sister up. Of course, I didn’t find the guy attractive, so no need to joke about that with her.
After I finished eating, I went to the bathroom to wash my hands when I noticed the “Date Gone Wrong” sign. I loved everything about it. A part of me felt sad that women needed such a plan B, but I was very happy that there were strategies to help a sister out. A woman’s safety shouldn’t be compromised just because she’s looking for romance. Ideally, she’d be as happy and secure as the woman behind me in the food line.
Since the Farmers’ Market was in progress, my friend and I walked around to see what was available. I figured I wouldn’t buy anything, but I’m always in the mood for a post-meal stroll. That’s precisely why I came across something that I ended up buying.
Months ago, I’d bought reusable woolen dryer balls. The box contained a teaser bottle of essential oil to spray on the balls. When I returned to the place to buy a larger bottle, there was none to be found. I’d been searching for a suitable replacement ever since. The challenge was greater than I would have originally figured.
So, when I came across some bottles advertising “linen spray,” I thought that was close enough. I asked the vendor if the spray was for dryer balls and she confessed that she hadn’t thought to use it in that way. I liked the sound of “Berry Apple Bourbon” before I confirmed by smelling it. She asked me to try the “Jamaica Please” scent, which was her favorite. I couldn’t decided between the two, so I bought both.
After all, whether the linen spray worked as dryer ball scents or not, I’d be helping out a Black woman-owned business. Definitely worth the effort in more ways than one.
I was blessed with another year around the sun. Similar to my other birthday celebrations, I planned what to buy for myself and how to spend time with others.
I actually got started last month when I discovered that I’d left one of my bathing suits at the gym and the other one was so worn that the elastic had gummied. So, I bought myself two other two-piece swimsuits as replacements since that was on my list of birthday gifts to myself. Just in time to kick off my 54th birthday celebration.
As par for the course, I took a day off. Not THE actual birthday, which landed on a Saturday, but still, I had to reward myself with a day off from work, which started off by sleeping in for about 30 minutes longer.
After breakfast, I attended a water aerobics class. I let the instructor know that I was kicking off my birthday celebration a day early. At the beginning of class, she led everyone singing “Happy Birthday” to me.
After class, I went grocery shopping. Then, I went REAL shopping. As a matter of fact, I’d cashed in 2500 recognition points from work, which translated into a $25 gift card at the Apple store. A drop in the bucket, considering that I ended up buying an iPad, case, and pencil, which all added up very fast even with trading in my old iPad.
The closest Apple store to me was a 90-minute drive. That alone was reason enough for a PTO day, but my birthday day off doesn’t require me to leave the house, much less the city.
I had a choice of several tempting restaurants at that mall. Instead, I ordered online for a local, family-owned Mexican restaurant, which I’d timed perfectly for a pick up when I arrived in town, on the way home. Topped off with my own homemade coconut margarita, that was a perfect topper to the day and the best part, the sun had not yet set.
On the morning of my actual birthday, again I slept in. Since Saturdays are my normal cleaning days, I continued that domestic ritual.
For two Saturdays a month, I meet virtually to discuss race-based articles. During the last meeting, I told them that for the next event, I’d wear a tiara to celebrate my birthday and invited all of them to join me. Two other women wore tiaras and two other women wore fascinators. So, even though the conversation was heavy, I’m grateful that some chose to share in my joy.
The joy continued when the family met at a family-owned seafood restaurant. We’d never eaten there before, but months ago, I’d ordered takeout, which was yummy. The dine-in experience was even better. Not only did we start off with cocktails, but all the food was delicious. First time that I had to wear a plastic bib with plastic gloves. My nephew dug right in with his eating attire. I was apprehensive about it, saying that I’d eat the bulk of my food at home as leftovers. My sister, on the other hand, didn’t give a shit, didn’t wear any of it and still managed not to get food all over herself.
Later that evening, I had the pleasure of going to a musical with both of my sisters. Originally, my out-of-town sister was supposed to head back home after lunch, but a change of circumstances meant that she and her family were staying in town for a few days longer. So, my nephew agreed to allow her to go in his place. That was truly a birthday miracle. Besides, had he gone, his mother would have had to wake him up. In a way, I’m envious at how easily he can fall asleep even with a lot of sound and commotion going on.
On Sunday, we all met at a Mexican seafood restaurant. They served up margaritas in one size: punchbowl. My spicy mango margarita came with a tanjin straw, which I nibbled on for a sweet and tangy appetizer. One of my sisters talked so much crap about the spicy candy until I let her taste it for herself, then she admitted that it was actually good.
We’d never eaten there before, but it was an instant hit. My niece, who’s a vegan, researched the restaurant and came up with a winner. I can tell my family’s come a long way since fish came out with the head on it and no one freaked out about it.
Another delicious thing: my sister and her husband have been pescaterians for several years. Throughout the meal, they were praising the yellow rice that most of us received as a side dish. As I packed up my leftovers in a to-go box, I tasted a forkful of my rice without the salmon and detected the secret ingredient of why the rice was so yummy. Chicken broth. Lord knows how I enjoy flavoring my vegetable dishes with animal product!
Although Mom’s birthday is three days after mine, this year was the first time I’d taken a PTO day for her birthday as well. Since Mom’s dad’s primary caregiver, one of the best gifts to give her is time away from him. So, I took her to breakfast while a caregiver was with Dad. Yet again, to a restaurant we’ve never eaten at before.
I’d researched breakfast places and was amazed that I’d never noticed it before in one of the newest shopping areas. Mom and I hit the restaurant at the best time, missing the breakfast rush. As a matter of fact, the place was so empty, I spied my favorite hot sauce.
Mom had been so preoccupied by the birthday wishes on her phone, that she reacted as if the hot sauce had magically appeared. So, she sent me to fetch her an inferior hot sauce, but it was her birthday outing.
Although Mom could have ordered a number of breakfast tacos, she only ordered one. Then, throughout breakfast, she said, “You sure won’t get filled up at this place.”
Ms. Smoothies-for-Breakfast was now worried about being full for her morning meal? I think not. Even though she enjoyed her lone taco, she had to find something wrong with the place.
Since I’d taken the whole day off, Mom got another respite day and went to get a mani-pedi. She was beaming with the relaxation of her gift of time for herself. And just like that, another new tradition I’m going to observe for Mom’s birthday!
