Christmas journal: Texas 2023
I visited my home state of Texas this year for Christmas. I had a really nice time and have all sorts of thoughts and photos to dump, so to indulge myself and/or preserve the memories, here’s how it all went…
Dec 21 — Thursday
I’m so accustomed to flying out of Boston that I forgot how short the flight from Denver to Austin is (under two hours!)
Air travel is incredibly difficult for me as an autist, but I prepared myself well for a gentle and low-stress experience by taking a long walk at home beforehand, splurging on Southwest’s Business Select fare (priority boarding!), and making sure to check my main suitcase so there wouldn’t be anxiety about bin space. My Loop earplugs were the usual godsend to turn the world’s volume down, and I elected to mask most of the time (literally, not the figurative term for what autistics do to stay safe…though I guess there was a little of both 😄) just in case. I don’t usually wear a mask anymore, but airports are an extra special kind of germ hub, and the chance of losing the rest of my time off work to any miserable respiratory experience just isn’t worth it (technically, something could still be incubating as I write this…fingers crossed).
On a side note, I’m still really sad that JetBlue (my preferred airline where I get all the credit card points) didn’t have any flights from Denver to Austin at all. Especially since Southwest comes with the mini-neurological-nightmare of non-assigned seating! But I have to say, having had the coveted “A01” and “A04” positions on my tickets there and back, and hence ending up at or near the front of the line, I realized that I might just like it better that way. You’re really guaranteed a bin space (which I didn’t need anyway) when you’re “literally the first” (or fourth) person on the jet bridge, as opposed to “some arbitrary person in the first group that will 100% mow you over.” And Southwest’s flight attendants are hilarious and serve blueberry seltzer. My loyalties might be shifting…
My little sister picked me up from the airport late in the evening. We elected to stay at her apartment in the suburbs instead of making the drive to the rural area where our parents live (and where there would possibly be overwhelming numbers of people…definitely not something I was ready for just yet). We hung out on her sectional couch (you’ve really made it when you get a sectional, my sister and I agreed) and watched clips of Dancing with The Stars and its hilariously-named U.K. counterpart (hilarious to my American ears, at least. I mean…Strictly Come Dancing).
I wasn’t familiar with Dancing with the Stars, but I felt a lot of things when Layton and Nikita came on. I know we’re supposed to be in modern times where everything’s cool, but I never expected or even entertained the idea of a mainstream show like this having a male-male pairing, dancing together like anyone else (and doing a freaking amazing job of it. I think my sister said they got second in the end?)
I thought seeing Weekend or even Of an Age was a huge thing for me as a gay millennial guy, and both movies absolutely were (one was even offered as in-flight entertainment recently! How wonderfully normal is that!), but something about this — where it’s like, not romance, but just…an actual reality show, and a thing that couples do...on mainstream TV!…WOW. I always forget how much representation matters, and then I see something I could only dream of before and almost cry. Yeah.
Television aside, I also realized that my sister and brother-in-law’s place has a sort of colorful, lived-in feeling — kinda hard to put my finger on, but some sort of embrace of lives and hobbies and clutter and warmth and activity, frozen in a welcoming moment for me to have a look — that I know in my gut (or heart?) is not accessible to me.
Not that I’m not deeply loved or successful or even happy —I am, all of those. I just…don’t have the mental capacity to fill and carry out a life so rich in those subtle, slightly-more-neurotypical-than-me aspects, if that makes any semblance of sense. Visiting my sister’s full and bustling and inviting home, I realized that my own life (hobbies, spaces, whatever) is necessarily a lot more spartan (our mom might say my apartment is tidier, but it’s really just emptier) to make room for the invisible walls and controls and protections that my autism demands day-to-day. I felt melancholy about that.
And I don’t know; maybe she masks better if she’s like me, but I wish I had some of the beautiful and varied sociability and experience that my sister seems to, written on walls full of pictures and rooms full of extra-cozy furnishings and shelves full of books and a fridge full of marathon memorabilia and a vanity full of gorgeous, psychedelic nail polishes and a counter full of wonderful and silly tumblers and funky appliances and dog toys and candles and envelopes and protein bars and Pop-Tarts and just…cool, busy human stuff. I’m so proud of her.
Dec 22 — Friday
My sister still had to work half a day before we headed to my parents’ place, so I slept in and eventually scoped out a long walk. Being in suburban Texas, I wasn’t optimistic, but it was claimed that a continuous ten miles of sidewalks could be found if one looked hard enough. I guessed entirely wrong the first time but managed to find the “Suburban Ninja Bike Trail System.”
This makes total sense as a name, since you indeed have to be a ninja to sneak in any iota of reasonable outdoor exercise in an American suburb.
Eventually, I did end up finding the long sidewalk and binged a few older episodes of 99% Invisible, which was my number one favorite podcast until testosterone gave me emotions and made me partial to personal stories instead. It’s still in my top ten, for what it’s worth.
Unsurprisingly (I figured there weren’t many pedestrian options to begin with), my sister found me during a post-work run, and we visited the Holy Grail of Groceries together, also known as H-E-B. I didn’t need anything in particular but welcomed the chance to stock up on fun ‘water’ drinks and protein-adjacent snacks to bring to my parents’ place, which is way too far from anything you might need in a pinch.
I would go as far as saying that H-E-B is better than Wegmans, and I ended up buying a nice piece of fan gear as well:
On our way out to the country, we stopped at Buc-ee’s as one does (I’m not a tourist if I had the t-shirt in high school 15 years ago, right?), where I bought my sister lunch and just barely resisted the urge to spend $25 on a beaver-sweater-themed Christmas onesie. I kinda regret that since you really have to own being a teeny tiny guy when the opportunities arise, and adorable PJs are a surefire way to do it.
Upon reaching the farm (okay, not really, but there are cows), my capriciously hot-and-cold 3-day standoff with the sister’s rescue Shiba commenced. I vegged out on the work computer for a bit while enjoying another H-E-B gem and keeping a wary eye on the dog.
Then I spent some quality time with one of my favorite creatures on earth:
Sprinkles (the cat) somewhat enjoyed the Matatabi chew sticks I brought along for her and was a delightful nuisance when I tried to put clean sheets on the guest bed.
To my delight, we drove into Town for dinner and were treated to the kind of Tex-Mex that obviously blows any other state’s out of the water.
To top it all off, we even went to Walmart.
I don’t mean that in a dismissive way; I mean that I rarely get the chance and love a good source of cheap, practical baking ingredients and/or shoes, such as the slip-proof black sneakers my dad ended up getting for me. They’re meant for oily work environments, but I wouldn’t be surprised if they’re also great for Colorado sidewalk ice — at 1/4 the price of the fancy Merrell boots I replace annually that don’t actually work on most sidewalk ice. We’ll find out soon.
(Also, I just remembered that I completely forgot to eat the bag of frozen mango chunks that my parents bought me, which I made a huge deal about the great taste of. If you’re reading this, Mom, I’m sorry for taking up freezer space! 😱)
Dec 23 — Saturday
We didn’t have anything planned until Christmas Eve (or, at least, I didn’t, and I needed to conserve the limited social energy I had, which was already rapidly draining due to existing with 4 people plus a dog that hates new people in an open-plan living space with nightmarish acoustics. I don’t love how snippy I got at times…).
So I enjoyed an almost four-hour walk along a lesser-used rural road not far up the state highway. Actually getting to said road was an interesting exercise in navigating the state highway’s steep ditch and/or shoulder with utmost vigilance and/or luck, and I took my dad’s offer to simply drop me off there for my routine escape the following day. When we say that America just isn’t walkable, this is part of what we mean.
That afternoon, I assisted my dad with his dessert idea for the upcoming Christmas Eve gathering and also made a chocolate strawberry pie. I was a little stressed about the latter; I had promised to make my own chocolate raspberry pie but couldn’t find seedless raspberry preserves. Even worse, the French silk topping requires raw eggs. We had plenty of yard eggs on hand, but those aren’t pasteurized like store-bought ones tend to be. I decided it wasn’t worth the risk and whipped some leftover heavy cream with a little powdered sugar and vanilla for the topping instead. Combined with the last-minute switch to strawberry filling, the pie turned out okay!
Dad’s Texas-style pecan baklava was great as well (I credit myself for insisting on a little extra salt in the filling). We used puff pastry sheets since we couldn’t find phyllo dough and soaked it with a spiced maple and honey blend at the end.
We opted to eat in for dinner (or supper, as they call it here), and I declined both the shepherd’s pie at my parents’ place and the pot roast being served at Grandma’s up the road. I’ve never been a huge beef fan, but I was also struggling to muster an appetite in the first place. I’ve always been a stress starver and was admittedly still having trouble with the loud house and intermittently-aggressive dog.
Thankfully, I finally forced the food issue before bed and cooked myself 3 of the aforementioned yard eggs with some leftover Swiss cheese and avocado salsa. It wasn’t my best work, but it did the job.
Dec 24 — Sunday
Christmas Eve was my last full day in Texas, since I wanted to fly out on Christmas Day to avoid the largest crowds (which worked, by the way. Security was a not a madhouse, and my flight had 40 empty seats!)
Luckily, Christmas Eve is also the day my mom’s family holds the traditional gathering, so I wasn’t going to miss anything important. I did, however, still spend most of my time walking outside and/or keeping to myself before making any appearances.
I used to feel shame about being so ‘aloof’, but nowadays I realize that it’s okay to honor my sensory/social needs and take small doses of interaction when and if I can handle them. My parents have become incredibly loving and understanding about this, which I’m super grateful for. A few others, from what I gather, not so much, but I try to remind myself that:
- They aren’t entitled to me fitting perfectly into some Norman Rockwell painting of ‘family behavior’ they have,
- I’m not that important to begin with, as one among 50+ extended family members, and
- They may very well be projecting (as in, they’re a lot like me, possibly even autistic as well, but still too ashamed or afraid to assert their own need for more alone time)
Either way, Christmas Eve was a good time. I was still really nervous to walk over to the party (held in my uncle’s barn, one field over), since it was only the second time I’d seen everyone since my transition.
Luckily, Czech people don’t tend to make overblown announcements out of comings and goings. I slipped right into the barn and found a table with crayons and coloring sheets, where the occasional aunt, uncle, or cousin came by to warmly greet me and ask how life was going. I colored a picture of a Christmas tree being decorated by happy squirrels and rabbits (which reminds me that I saw two large jack rabbits while walking earlier that day — truly an amazing sight and very different from normal garden rabbits).
To my delight, I immediately passed as male to the little cousins and children of cousins who weren’t old enough to know me in the past, some of whom also enjoyed the coloring table.
We had a very Texan selection of King Ranch chicken casserole, venison enchiladas, green pepper tamales, and/or ‘chicken spaghetti’ (a.k.a. ‘I don’t know what this is, but there is definitely meat, cheese, and butter and it’s great’) for dinner. I opted for the noodle thing and a tamale because I’m skeptical that wild game can ever taste good (and/or mildly paranoid about prions). There was also a fantastic, refreshing fruit salad with the lightest spritz of juice for a coating, featuring only the good stuff like berries, bananas, oranges, and apples and none of the awful stuff like cantaloupe or honeydew.
The dessert table was its own thing, of course. Among five plus other cookie choices, someone made those fantastic, powdery pecan crescent thingies, and there were pies (apple and my own chocolate strawberry), brownies, loaves, candies, a pumpkin roll, and a proper chocolate cake to boot. Not to mention the pecan baklava and some strange, wonderful sheet pan concoction that tasted like a cross between cheesecake and a giant cinnamon roll. I should’ve asked what that was.
I opted out of the post-dinner white elephant exchange, since I didn’t want to load extra stuff into my suitcase. The evening concluded with a nice game of cornhole (and thankfully not hard mode cornhole a.k.a. washers) with my eldest cousins, and I probably couldn’t have asked for a more pleasant and ordinary Christmas experience. I spotted an unopened bag of homemade sourdough slices on my way out and asked nicely to steal them for my bread-loving partner, which was permitted.
Dec 25 — Monday
My anxious mind was humored with an extra early ride to the Austin airport (so much so that I had to wait a few minutes to check my bag since they wouldn’t take them until four hours prior to departure!)
I jokingly messaged my friends about it and insisted that I’m not crazy; I just have dad energy:
…really, though, I’m reminded again of how much my parents love me. They gladly got up at 6AM on Christmas Day to deal with my silly schedule brain, among other things.
The flight back to Denver was only barely delayed, and before I knew it, I was in my partner’s car and on the way home again. I crashed back into my familiar routines and ended up sleeping a good 12 hours the following night.
I need a few more days of solitude after a trip like this, but I’m so happy to be near my person again. Like my parents, he does seem to love me a lot (more importantly, he brought my favorite cookies back from his own family’s celebration 🎄)
Bonus that I completely forgot about: When I first arrived at my parents’ place, there was a scorpion in the toilet!
I was laughing too hard to be scared. I had never personally seen one before, though my cousins in the area talk about them semi-regularly.
