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I’m not into dumpster diving…especially with this pandemic business going on, but I’m all about picking up gently used furniture that is dumpster-adjacent.
Hence, our new circular dining table. As I strolled around the apartment complex on a beautiful Sunday afternoon and talked with one of my sisters, I saw it.
I fast walked back to the apartment to get my car and ask my roommate to assist me with retrieving the table. All I can say is thank goodness I have a hatchback. We put the table into the car, legs first, which my roommate held onto since we couldn’t close the hatch. I drove slowly, avoiding speed bumps.
Now one of the upsides of the being in a pandemic is that I had plenty of disinfectant wipes to clean the table off before bringing it into our apartment. I’d had a card table for a dining table for over ten years. I’m sure part of my fascination with the preowned table has to do with being sequestered for nearly two years. Yet, the energy in that corner of this tiny apartment has been changed.
After we positioned it, I announced, “We’re going to have a shot party on Friday!” Didn’t even have to check my schedule or ask my roommate about hers. When I texted a picture of the table to some friends along with the impending shot party, one friend immediately invited herself.
My roommate had her drink together precisely at 5:01.
I had some other running around the apartment to do. As soon as I got off from work, which I do from home, I had a 15-minute workout on my vibration plate. Then I set the party table.
For my drink, I googled something like “fall shots” and landed on a recipe that included fresh ginger, sparkling apple cider, apple brandy, honey, with fresh mint garnish.
I’d bought a nice-sized piece of ginger for another drink recipe from Mom: whole cloves, a few sticks of cinnamon and chopped ginger. I brought all that to a rolling boil, then let it steep until it cooled. Turned out very strong but still drinkable.
Good thing too. That healthy drink made a delicious mixer for the alcohol I added to make my fall cocktail. Why mix in only ginger when you can have cinnamon and cloves as well?
Although I called it a “shots party,” let’s face it, I didn’t do shots when I was a cute age to do it, so I surely wouldn’t start that up as a newly minted middle aged woman.
I sipped my cocktail with a throw-together meal my roommate and I put together: cauliflower crusted supreme pizza with a biscuit, baked asparagus and pork ribs. OK, so my only contribute was the pizza. Then again, I spotted the table and planned the party. Great thing I don’t have to do everything.
As usual, I cast my vote in person on the first day of early voting.
I worried that I’d have to wait in line with the other people just getting off work around that time. Silly rabbit! No one but other very nerdy voters booked it to the polls on the first day they were open to vote on bonds and proposals.
Nonetheless, I perform my civic duty as soon as I’m able to, no matter how seemingly trivial the election. After all, I want to have a say in the community in which I live. Plus, I wanted to sport my sweet “I Voted” sticker as I shopped for groceries afterwards.
More importantly, I texted my photo to several friends to remind them that early voting had begun, knowing that about half of them wouldn’t even bother, but for the half who would, totally worth it. In this current climate of voter restrictions, who knows how many elections I have before the restrictions take me back to the 60s?
Not just another excuse to dress up and attend a real live event. Thanks to the membership showcase, I saw my first short film, There’s Always Something, up on the big screen.
Additionally, this was the first time I’d met some other board members in real life after many monthly Zoom call meetings. We hugged one another like long lost friends.
After about 30 minutes of boozing and schmoozing in the lobby, we were finally ushered into the theatre.
Took everything in me not to take a picture of my film as it played. I didn’t catch anyone else doing such an uncouth thing, so I played it cool and restrained myself. Besides, the organization had a photographer going around and taking pictures throughout the evening. All I have to do now is be patient and wait for those pictures to be uploaded to the website…of course now that I going to be a part of the marketing committee since I’m no longer secretary, that my very well be my job.
Speaking of jobs, as much as I enjoy my newish full-time job, I think the concept of “full-time” should be no longer than six and a half hours a day. After all, we’re already working in shifts. Plus, with a desk job, even a lucrative work from home desk job, embracing more sedentary hours lead to higher blood pressure and diabetes. Not to mention a loss of time to advance creative projects such as filmmaking.
Technically, I made a second short film, yet this one was also not written by me. I’m still playing with the idea of making animated films out of something I’ve written. Something that can be done remotely and with an inexpensive app or two.
For now, I’m sticking to illustrating since the process is so relaxing, and podcasting. Like the two short films I made, I created two podcasts last year during the pandemic. I began with “CBD & Poetry,” thinking that I’d combine two of my interests just to get my podcasting feet wet.
Mission accomplished! For the first season, I interviewed friends who used CBD. I self-taught my way throughout the entire process and planned out dropping one episode a week as if I were programming a series. I even outlined and researched season two: CBD entrepreneurs.
Then, organically, I began interviewing my older relatives, starting with my mother for what eventually became known as “Strange Family Folklore” podcast. As I questioned Mom about how our family acquired land, that began a series of questions that deserved a series of podcast episodes. Unlike my first series, which I’ve put on an indefinite hold, this podcast is planned on the fly. I still edit it to the best of my abilities, but I don’t dare think of it in terms of “seasons,” but rather an on-going documentation of a part of my extended family.
In other words, I should have been that asshole who took a picture of my film on the big screen. I don’t know the next time I’ll get that chance again. Everything else I’m working on isn’t projectable.
Never been a huge fan of planks as part of my exercise regimen. Granted, I appreciate the beauty of nicely sculpted arms, but other than vanity, never enjoyed the pain of that gain.
Planks sneak their way into many of my virtual yoga-based classes because they come in so many varieties: high planks, forearm planks, side planks (both forearm and straight arm), bear planks, torpedo planks, plank jacks…I’m sure there are many others percolating in the mind of creative sadistic exercise/yoga instructors.
So, on the way to my car to run errands after work, I tripped and fell. First time in a long time I’ve fallen completely to the ground. Normally a stumble here or there, but a full fall has usually left me in a world of pain and months, sometimes years of recovery.
Not this time! This time, I fell into a high plank position. Not the sexy high plank position, but the OMG that “middle-aged woman just tripped and is going to break her hip” fall into the high plank position. Except, nothing hurt. Once I stopped falling, I held the position as I did a quick mental scan. I hadn’t banged my knee, hit my head, fallen onto one of my arms nor knocked out a tooth. I’d landed into an unattractive yet effective plank.
My scraped palms and wrists were the only evidence of the fall. Even the next day, when I thought my shoulders would be in pain due to the trauma of catching that fall. Nothing!
Planks have now been elevated to a survival skill. For once, I’m going to participate in “Planks-giving” come this November. My yoga studio sponsors the challenge. I believe they start off with a 20-second plank during the first couple of days, adding a few seconds periodically as the month advances until one reaches the 5-minute mark by Thanksgiving.
I shared the challenge with one of my sisters, who told me about her chiropractor’s daughter: she regularly holds a forearm plank for over an hour. Of course my initial thought was “Why?” Then again, kudos to her. Most 10-year olds are being as productive or are consuming TV or some other form of media mindlessly.
For now, I’ve stopped cussing in my head when I do planks and look forward to the challenge.
When a member of my creative writing group suggested we attend a quirky poolside talent show at an iconic motel, I jumped on the opportunity.
In real life, I wouldn’t have ever paid such a ticket price, parking fee, and lord don’t get me started on that overpriced watered down allegedly tequila-based drink I ordered before the show. All I can say is, I’m glad I took a picture of the provisional poolside bar as a shortcut to telling my friend what the bar offered. This picture at least proves the appearance of alcohol even if there was no evidence in my cocktail.
Nonetheless, very little could spoil this picturesque evening.
I even slathered on the Skin So Soft just in case climate change hadn’t killed off all the mosquitoes.
Although the host and judges were part of an improv troupe, the entire show seemed improvised. Not a single performer played it straight, which made me wonder how they curated the acts.
The synchronized swimmers performed first.
They achieved synchronicity more by the power of suggestion than actual timing.
Their stilted moves, along with their stiffly serious facial expressions, captivated us all.
They worked the crowd both in and around the pool.
Then the most bizarre talent on the scene did their thing.
As loosely as I used the phrase “synchronized swimming,” this performance I’d characterize as “burlesque.”
They removed the outer frumpy masculine-appearing layers, revealing the fight between bra and breasts.
They removed the outer frumpy masculine-appearing layers, revealing the fight between bra and breasts.
When as many layers that could be legally removed were finally stripped away, they jumped into the pool.
Another performance I’ll call “Elvis-flavored.”
When he first came on the scene prior to the music playing, I had a 50-50 chance of guessing correctly: Roy Orbison or Elvis. Then the Elvis medley came on, I think. It was definitely Elvis. Don’t remember whether it was one song or a few.
Next up: light sticks guy.
Or was it lit batons man? Either way, I was more amazed by the lit sticks, especially the illusion of geometric patterns as they moved swiftly through space.
Followed by a fire dancer.
Who ended up jumping in the pool after a fire hoop twirl gone wrong. That spontaneous pool dive was one of my favorite parts of the show. The sheer spontaneity of following her creative bread and butter.
After all was said and done, I spent around $80 for the evening. My cheap ass normally wouldn’t have spent that much on an outing. However, times have changed. The last time I’d hung out, I’d had a different job and hadn’t yet taken my first data science class. A lot can happen in nearly four months. So, I figure if I only drop about $80 every four months, that’s not too bad.
Mom is the home remedy queen. Something I take for granted until my general health dips. Years ago when she visited me for a week, she battled a ragweed allergy. She didn’t load up on cough drops like I normally do. Instead, she kept making herself garlic shots.
She peels a garlic clove. Minces it in a press. The contents of which goes into a spoon. Then she sweetens it with a little juice and takes it like a spoonful of medicine, which in a way it is.
I no longer drink juice on a regular basis.
As a matter of fact, when I bought two bulbs of garlic, I didn’t even think about how I’d sweeten it.
I had the proper apparatus, which is funny since I hardly ever bother with it.
These days, I either handchop raw garlic or put it in my blender.
Unlike manufactured medicines, I don’t take a full tablespoon of raw garlic.
Three little doses are so much better than one heaping, soul-burning tablespoon of raw garlic.
In the morning, I fill my spoon with water, but for the afternoon and evening doses, I’ve found yet another practical use for boxed wine.
That spout is a controlled way to dispense a medicinal amount into a spoon.
As much as I like red wine, I prefer it without the garlic, but garlic slides down nicely with it.
Although I have cough drops on my grocery shopping list for next week, I won’t need to gobble them down like I’ve done. Raw garlic shots thrice a day should do the trick. I’m limiting it to three small shots because Mom went overboard during the beginning of the plague when no one could be vaccinated. She gave herself garlic-induced dry eyes, which she had to counterbalance with eyedrops.
I’m not trying to give myself something else to remedy. There are already too many fires to take care of.
Never before have I used a birthday to make a conscious effort to improve the quality of my life. The kind of changes that most people make around New Year’s, but then again, I’ve never lived through a pandemic either. Going on two years of being sequestered. Now a combination of middle age bulge and pandemic pounds are literally weighing me down.
I’m not even trying to be girlie here. Recently, a man had a heart attack and couldn’t find a hospital to admit him. He died because so many COVID patients crowded him out. I cannot say that my recent lifestyle change will prevent a heart attack, but it’s better than sitting around and seeing how far and fast my ass can spread.
As much as I like my new job, I’ve sat on my ass for 8 hours a day. A full-time desk job managed to change my body faster than I imagined. I’m not at the place yet where I believe “sitting is the new smoking.” Then again, I’m not going to wait until my excessive sitting catches up to smoking levels.
Adopting a new exercise routine wasn’t too hard, courtesy of the pandemic. My active schedule has been wiped clean, so breaking up my online bingewatching when not asleep or at work is a good thing. Plus, it gives me something new and interesting to think about.
My eggbeater kick has come along nicely. I still can’t quite do it, but the overall pool workout is what I focus on while the weather permits. I only have a few more weeks until the temperature drops or the rainy season begins.
Just in time to level up on my vibration plate. I’ve used that magic machine twice a day during the week and once a day on the weekend. The first thing I noticed when I started using it was how good my joints felt. After about two or three days, I discovered how it helps “detoxification.”
I’ve not had a bowel movement like that since being in the yoga hot room before the plague. Thanks to a mostly healthy diet and exercising on a regular basis, I don’t experience constipation. But this vibration plate, just like Bikram yoga, causes “enhanced” bowel movements.
Call me crude. I can’t help thinking that this is one of the few cases where getting more shit is a good thing.
My birthday is ruled by sevens. Not only was I born on the 7th, but originally my birth month, September, was the 7th month in a 10-month Roman calendar, which is why the prefix is “sept-“. Plus, I was born in 1970. Thanks to the year 2021, I’m now a 17-year-old thrice over. That basically means, unlike when I was originally a 17-year-old, I’m highly aware that I don’t know it all. Speaking of “17,” I was supposed to be born on the 17th. So much for that plan.
Embracing my father’s philosophy of birthday celebration, I planned several things, starting with an upscale Italian restaurant.
My roommate and I ordered takeout. We were going to have a drink while we waited for our food.
As soon as we walked in, they enthusiastically told us that our order was ready. Obviously, we weren’t dressed to pick up takeout. We informed them of the plan, which we still followed even though our packed leftovers sat at the bar with us.
Another birthday tradition I started when I turned 40 was to wear a tiara for all my birthday activities. Considering that I’d planned to stay home the entire long weekend and work on my actual birthday, I made that trip count for the tiara photo op.
The next day, I celebrated my birthday by ordering things that would enhance the quality of my work/life balance: a firestick, an adjustable standing desk, a vibration plate, and a tankini.
My first gift to myself came on the actual day.
I broke my usual rule about fooling around with new technology at night. I really wanted the pleasure of watching Netflix without hooking up my laptop to the TV. That had been my inexpensive workaround for years. Then in about a year and a half, the effects of COVID finally caught up with the connection.
After using that HDMI hookup at least once a day, the laptop port couldn’t take it anymore. Even butterfly clipping the TV cable in place onto the TV like an IV drip (or should I say “IT drip”) into the HDMI port on my laptop as a workaround only lasted for about a month.
So as I knew would happen, the simple firestick instructions still had gaps. Fortunately, one of my nieces called to wish me a Happy Birthday. Among other things, I narrated the technological hole I was in with the “it’s so easy!” set up.
After she agreed that a firestick should be ready to go once attached to the TV, I backed out of the step I was trying to set up, and tried something else. I honestly don’t remember how I did it, but the Wi-Fi started downloading updates, which I hoped would help since I was attaching new technology to an old TV.
Once I got the firestick to interact with the TV, then I had to get the remote to connect to the TV. I got stumped on choosing the correct TV IR Profile. As every good IT person knows, just Google everything.
I found out more about Insignia TVs than I ever wanted to know except the one thing I actually wanted to know, the infrared profile of the damn TV! Thanks to perseverance and some guy who shared how he chose his TV’s IR Profile: trial and error. The good ol’ standby. Worked for me on the first try.
A UPS email sent my expectations through the roof about getting my standing desk. To be delivered between 11:30 AM and 1:30 PM? My Black ass! After work, I changed clothes to do pool exercises. When I returned, my standing desk box had magically materialized in my bedroom. I took one look at that box and thought, “What a fun Sunday morning project that’ll be!”
Friday, officially my mother’s 81st birthday and the 8th day of celebrating mine, another present I’d bought myself awaited in my bedroom, thanks to my roommate’s efforts.
Although one can do a full workout routine on a vibration plate to sculpt muscles, improve lymphatic and blood circulation, better balance and (the jury’s still out about) weight loss, I was far less ambitious.
Although one can do a full workout routine on a vibration plate to sculpt muscles, improve lymphatic and blood circulation, better balance and (the jury’s still out about) weight loss, I was far less ambitious. I plugged it in, flipped the switch, which didn’t actually turn it on. Pressed the power button, followed by the start button and vibrated while slowly doing some squats. Until I read an email, telling me that I had a package.
I’d chalked it up to the fires in California as to why the tankini didn’t arrive sooner.
The free swim cap with the raggedy-edged American flag design mirrored the state of the country. Nonetheless, it’s a damn fine swimsuit and the added bonus is the company name happens to be my initials. On Saturday, I put my tankini on to take a virtual yoga class, then kept it on to do my swimming pool exercises: capoeira kicks, jogging, and eggbeater kicks.
For my weekend takeout, a special treat: cupcakes and a chocolate Bourbon bar.
Normally I don’t buy desserts, but since the state of TX recently passed a law that essentially outlaws abortion, I made an exception. This dessert shop sold sugar cookies where some of the proceeds are donated to abortion care. I wasn’t in a sugar cookie mood even though they had icing. I made a $5 donation on top of the desserts I bought.
On Sunday morning, I figured out two major life-improving things.
I put together the adjustable standing desk with few problems, given the minimal written instructions and the mostly accurate illustrations. Yet once I’d assembled it, I couldn’t lower it. I squeezed the handle and pushed down. Nothing. I wanted to tinker with the mechanism, but envisioned cutting off my fingers. Instead, I checked the company’s website. No troubleshooting tips. I sent them an neutrally-worded email. Called the alleged support number, which no one answered because it was a Sunday morning.
At one point, the only safe idea I could think of was to put the portable desk on the floor and push down while squeezing the handle. That desk lowered as if it had good sense. Apparently, when I initially raised it, I couldn’t get enough leverage to lower it. Fortunately, I won’t need it that high again now that my workstation rests on it. Even when I’m standing on vibration plate.
As much as I enjoy my job, I’m excited to test drive the new workstation and workout on my vibration plate.
I finished putting my workstation just in time to set up for my virtual yoga class.
This was my second attempt to cast the Zoom class from my laptop to the TV.
Then it dawned on me: since the connection was via Wi-Fi, the laptop didn’t need to be beside the TV.
With that thought in mind, I returned the laptop to its resting spot in my bedroom. Funny thing. The sound comes out of the laptop and not the TV. Perhaps the free app I downloaded to cast Zoom call doesn’t allow that. I wouldn’t pay a whopping $2.99 for a better app. Not until the free shit totally breaks down. It’s the principle of the thing. I may be a year wiser, but I’m still cheap.
By the next day, I tested out another free app to watch a YouTube video. Lo and behold! the sound came out of the TV. Then again, even the second app didn’t cast Zoom sound through the TV. At least this time, I read the fine print: “devices,” such as Zoom, which doesn’t have any built-in sound control, won’t allow TV sound. Live and learn.
This birthday has confirmed my belief that money can buy happiness with the right set of priorities. Everything I gifted myself contributes to mental and physical well-being.
I’ve been on a months’ long culinary journey, which took me through a baking tour of quiches, muffins, breakfast casseroles and finally biscuits.
Mom sent me my first biscuit recipe, which I of course modified. These babies are as big as my hand and are a complete breakfast unto themselves.
Since I have a strict, time-sensitive weekday morning routine, being able to warm up hearty food in the oven while taking a shower after a 35-minute virtual HIIT (high-intensity interval training) class, allows me to devour a hot delicious breakfast before logging on to work by 8 AM.
One of the best things about these gluten-filled biscuits, I’m not starving an hour before lunch. Of course, I’ll have to explore other types of flour down the line, but for right now, I’m going to continue with the regular flour/buttermilk combination. Never before have I cooked with buttermilk this much.
I’m reminded of my maternal grandmother’s refrigerator. I learned the hard way as a child that not all milks are the same. In an effort to impress one of my cousins, I made both of us a homemade vanilla shake, not realizing that Mama Bea had two types of milk. Given a 50-50 chance, of course I chose the wrong one–an unlucky streak that has followed me into middle-agehood.
We had such great restraint, not taking a sip as I hand stirred all the ingredients into the plastic tumblers. When I was done, as if to say “bottoms up,” we both took a sip at the same time. Surprisingly, we didn’t spit that sour shake sip out. Never again did I blindly reached into anyone’s refrigerator ever again.
Buttermilk is for biscuits, not milkshakes. And yet, even as I typed that, I’m tempted to look up a recipe for Buttermilk Milkshakes.
OK, so I gave into curiosity and every flavor of buttermilk shake shared the same adjective: bitter. Yup. That’s what I remember and it’ll be a hard pass. I’ll save my buttermilk for savory foods.
Another part of what should have been “a double vax hot summer” activity morphed into another pandemic statistic. As days ticked by, the COVID infection rate soared. A week before my friend’s latest book launch, we entered Stage 5. Yet, not even the plague could stop me from writing an introduction. The show must go on, even if it’s over Zoom.
Since we got to know one another through The Austin Writers Roulette, I briefly traced our friendship, including one clip, which I posted in the Zoom chat. I knew the risk. As soon as people see a link, they have to click on it. I heard the audio from the video in less than 20 seconds. Not only did I want to share one of Donna’s performances, but I reminded Donna that one of our deceased friends had been present during that show. What a gift!
Welcome to Donna Dechen Birdwell’s Friday the 13th Post-Apocalyptic during a Pandemic Book Launch! That title alone is part of the reason we’ve been friends since 2012. Interesting people have interesting friends.
Donna and I met a month or two before I launched The Austin Writers Roulette, which was a theme-inspired spoken word and storytelling show, which I produced and hosted for eight seasons. However, that first season took place in a capoeira studio that I transformed into a storytelling event space. I had no idea what I was doing that first year, but apparently, I knew enough to attract a major talent like Donna.
Not only did Donna grace the Roulette stage that first show, but she was a frequent performer throughout all eight seasons. I’ve had the pleasure of getting to know about her anthropology background and personal adventures over the years. And she was one of 20 artists who I extended a personal invitation to perform for the final show in December 2019.
World-building is one of the most challenging tasks speculative fiction writers have. Donna’s writing seamlessly immerses her readers into whichever world her story takes place to the extent that one doesn’t wonder if it could exist, but rather how soon our world will evolve into it.
Of all the things that Donna boldly shared over the years at the Roulette, she confessed that the sexy steamy things made her nervous for her adult children to read. For the 2016 Roulette show, Sex, Love & Virtual Reality, (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xogbZlhCmOg timestamp 8:50), Donna read scenes from her novel, Way of the Serpent. By overwhelming audience applause, she won best woman-identified piece. It was probably her declaration, “There’ll definitely be more sex,” that sealed the deal, elevating her into the Pantheon of Kinky Grandmas. (OK, so that’s not actually a real thing, but it we keep saying it, the Pantheon of Kinky Grandmas will manifest.)
So, now that I made her blush, please give a big Zoom welcome to Donna Dechen Birdwell!
