Month: July 2019

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Just Out Buying Suzanne’s Water And Skitter’s Chews

Houndstooth, floppy Bow Tie o’ the Day ventured to Walmart with me this afternoon. I would have been all alone otherwise. And I have to say that I’m loving my “Toadsuck” hat, which I got in Arkansas earlier this month. I bought a second cap which spells the place’s name with two words: Toad Suck– which is the correct way to spell it. I’m kinda thinking one of the reasons Toad Suck, AR is a sucky place is that some people there don’t know how to spell it. Or they don’t know how to spell it consistently. For example, I purchased this hat at the Toad Suck One-Stop convenience store. Did ya catch that? The store spells its name as two words (correct), but sells the one-word Toadsuck baseball caps.

In a previous post, I mentioned that Toad Suck wasn’t much more than a mud-flooded park area and the convenience store. But I am so glad I visited the place. In conversations now, if there’s a lull, all I have to do is say, “Been to Toad Suck lately?” And I can start out sentences thus: “When I was in Toad Suck, Arkansas….” All ears are peeled to hear what comes after those words. I try to come up with something interesting.

The name itself throws people off kilter. I can say things that are technically true, although there’s no way in the world they will actually happen. For example, I can say, “I’ve been thinking we should build a house in Toad Suck when we retire.” People don’t know what to think. I don’t have any intention to retire to any place called Toad Suck, but it’s not a lie to say I’m thinking of it because I have thought of it for long enough to say the sentence. And it’s worth saying the sentence to see people’s faces get quizzical about the place.

Nobody has to have heard of Toad Suck, AR before I bring it up, in order for it to grab their focus. The ridiculous name is enough to get people paying attention. I dare you: Use TOAD SUCK in a sentence when you’re talking to at least one person. Watch the face. You won’t regret it. And feel free to report the reactions.

BTW I’ve had a few people ask what Toad Suck means when they’ve seen me wearing the hats. One person looked downright scared to ask me about it, but the urge to ask was too strong. The power of two words!

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A Nostalgic Moment

Dad’s carrying Tie o’ the Day this morning. I’ve posted this photo before, I’m sure. And I’m sure it had a sermon or a true tall tale of a story with it. I’m just giving y’all the photo today. I simply feel like I want to be six-months-old again for a few minutes– sitting on my mother’s lap, with my dad rockin’ a skinny tie right beside us.

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Table O’ Contents

I spend time on the oddest things. For example, I wanted to make the title of this post both true and punny, so I thought about it for a while, then dumped out my Saddle Purse on the dining table. Voila! “Table O’ Contents.” I think readers like discovering tiny, clever details in what they read, and the writer has to put them there to be discovered. It takes more work than you can imagine.

Cleaning out my first and last purse (I hope) for the very first time was eye-opening. I won’t explain the entire haul that had grown inside the saddle. You can tell what most things are, and you know their uses. But I do want to highlight a few items.

The cowboy hat belongs to Skitter, although I have worn it a couple of times. She wore it last week to Delta when we didn’t find Mom. Once she realized Mom had busted out for the day, and she wouldn’t be seeing Grandma, Skitter got pouty and hung her head so low her hat kept slipping off. Into the purse, I put it. The hat is perched on my Triple Combination (Mormon scriptures, for you heathens out there). I had put the book into my purse Sunday before I went to church with Grace Anne, and I hadn’t taken it out yet. The lens on top of my Triple Combo is my monocle. Yup, it’s the monocle I’ve been looking for throughout the last few weeks. I’ve missed it.

The red booklet is just what it says it is: a copy of The Constitution. It’s always a fine read when you’re waiting somewhere in a long line. This copy is usually in the center console of my car, so I’ll return it to its spot. I don’t know how it got in my Saddle Purse.

In fact, as a fledgling carrier of a purse, I can attest to the fact that it’s a mystery how most of the things I found in my purse today got there. It’s as if purses magically become the way stations on the journey to where items really belong. And sometimes, like with the tobacco pipe you see here, things get into purses because they don’t have a place to be. I have no Pipe Room, you know. The reason I have a pipe is no more complicated than the fact that sometimes what you’re wearing just needs a prop pipe. I suppose what I really need to do is create a Prop Room, but we don’t want a bigger house. More importantly, I ain’t movin’ again.

Total # of notebooks found in the purse: 6. Total # of pens/pencils, including 1 CTR pencil: 10. Clip for a thick stack of papers: 1 gigantic pink one, which Suzanne brought me from a work trip in Augusta, GA. The red Snoopy/Christmas tree bow tie is a spare, one of my “stunt” ties. It’s one I carry “just in case.” Also, I’ve been carrying around my spiffy watch to help me remember to take it to the jeweler for repair. The spiffy watch hasn’t yet helped me remember to take it to the jeweler for repair, as you can see.

The orange and black tube at bottom, center in the photo is my generic EpiPen injector, filled with epinephrine to counteract my allergic reactions to bee stings. I carry it with me at all times. The SMARTIES are the size of quarters!

The dial-looking thing above the EpiPen is a pack of spare batteries for my hearing aid, which my ear doc insists I call a hearing “device.” Just above the CUTTER spray, you can see one of my headlamps. I honestly don’t remember exactly when I needed a headlamp in my purse, but I can pretty much guarantee it had to do with being able to read and/or write in the dark without bothering anyone.

Oddly, one of the material objects it would be difficult for me to be without is the bright orange matchbook-looking thing to the right of The Constitution. It is designed to be like a matchbook, but instead of matches, it contains Post-it notes. It makes me laugh every time I see it. It never gets old to me.

But do you “see” what I didn’t find in my Saddle Purse? My wallet! I had to go upstairs and search for it. I finally found it in the back pocket of a pair of my shorts, in the dirty clothes. I try to keep my wallet in The Saddle Purse, but I have decades of a wallet-in-back-pocket habit to overcome. Besides, before this morning’s evacuation of the purse, my poor thin wallet couldn’t have fit into anyway.

BTW Feel free to ask about any of the items that cluttered my Saddle Purse. The last snapshot is the end result of its first bigly overhaul.

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The Cleanin’ Out O’ The Saddle Purse

Every few months, I see the contents of Suzanne’s purse dumped out on the bed. I have learned this means it’s time for her to ferret through the contents, making decisions about what goes into the garbage, what gets filed where, and what gets returned to the empty carcass of the purse.

In April, when I finally bought the one and only purse I’ve ever owned, I vowed my Saddle Purse would never need one of these bigly archaeological digs for relevant purse inventory. Of course, I was wrong. In the short amount of time I have owned and used a purse, I have come to the conclusion that a purse naturally fills up to its gills. It’s the work of a purse to carry what we think we need, and we always need far too much. We put things in it, because it’s there.

My observations of Suzanne with her purses tells me the size of the purse doesn’t matter. She has all sizes of purses, and whatever purse she’s carrying at any given time inevitably ends up overflowing. The smaller the purse, the quicker the next purse-cleaning happens.

This morning, I opened The Saddle Purse to what you see here. It was time. Some things must leave the purse. How in the world did this happen? I have become a true purse lady.

These photos show the closed Saddle Purse (with Bow Tie o’ the Day sticking out), the opened Saddle Purse, and the dumped-out pile of its contents. Stay tuned for the next post, where you will see the complete inventory. And let me say right now that even I was surprised at a couple of things I found inside.

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My Eyes Are Open

Tie o’ the Day is only one delightful part of my carefully chosen ensemble. I had to hie to a speshul Homeowners Association (HOA) meeting at the Centerville Branch of the Davis County Library system a few evenings ago. Suzanne was attending her book club, so I was on my own. People, if you have never been to a HOA meeting, consider yourself lucky.

No matter how important any topic on the agenda of these meetings might be, the meetings are kinda dull. I have not yet fallen asleep in one, but as I get older, it gets harder to keep the old eyeballs and earballs on the task at hand. I mean– there are pages of numbered articles, rules, laws, bylaws, and notes to suffer through. Snore. So I came up with this clashy attire, hoping to keep me and my fellow meeting-goers awake with the warring of my fabric patterns and colors. You’ll just have to use your imagination about how the cut-offs and cowboy boots added to the look. I didn’t think to take a photo of them. And don’t think I didn’t have The Saddle Purse on my shoulder.

I could have skipped the HOA meeting altogether, but I don’t want to take the chance the other owners might vote for something stoopid. In fact, there is one old bat owner (the truth hurts, but it’s still true) who seems to read the HOA bylaws as religiously as some people do their daily scripture study– and she wants everyone to know it. Her interpretations of the rules often do not have anything to do with the real legalities involved. In fact, the simpler the rule, the more she seems to have to fuss about it.

As a responsible member of my community, I consider it part of my duty in life to cancel out this woman’s wacky HOA vote, whenever necessary. And I want to be in the meeting to see it canceled. I take no glee in her defeats, but canceling out her HOA vote ensures the rest of us reasonable community regulations.

At this particular meeting, she piped up about the inadequate length of the towel hooks hanging on the swimming pool restroom doors. She spent a bigly chunk of time on that “issue.” I had to suppress my urge to hand her $10 so she could go across the street to Home Depot and buy a screwdriver and whatever size towel hooks she wants on the pool restroom doors. I wanted to tell her I’ll even switch out the hooks myself if she just won’t make us spend one more boring moment of our collective time listening to her talk about this “calamity.”

But I sat there, quiet and polite. I always do. I listen to her with an open mind every time, hoping for an important and/or useful idea to come out of her mouth. There’s nothing “wrong” with the woman. I think the woman wants to contribute. I think she wants to be knowledgeable. Most importantly, I think she wants to stretch out the length of the meetings because she is just plain lonely. That the woman is lonely is an assumption Suzanne and I share, after spending many HOA meetings with her.

Folks, there’s always more going on with people than meets the eye, and you might not always be able to learn exactly what it is. Simply be patient, always. Simply be kind, always. And remember: You’re not dead yet, and you just might find you’ve become a lonely old bat in your own belfry one day, in need of the exact right towel hook and a friend who knows how to really listen and not be rude. Just sayin’.

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Grace Anne Update!

Remember picture day in elementary school? What I most remember about it is that girls came to school with their hair all done up in ways they never wore their hair before or after that day. Their hair did not resemble their “true hair.” Fortunately (or unfortunately) for me, I had basically the same short, straight-bang haircut until I was 11, and nothing could be “done up” with that. My hairs always looked exactly like themselves, even on Picture Day.

Grace’s current hairdo is similar to my kidhood cut. Minions Bow Tie o’ the Day declares Little Miss Gracie-thang was in fine form yesterday when I and my SWWTRN mauled and squeezed her to bits before and during church at Bishop Travis’ Provo ward.

One of Bishopette Collette’s sisters and her husband visited Gracie’s ward yesterday as well. Bishopette Collette sat between both sides of the family, so she could fairly referee Gracie’s time spent with each of us. We all seem to be pretty good Sharers o’ the Grace– at least while Bishopette Collette is looking, and we’re sitting on a pew in Sacrament Meeting. Sharing is good, boys and girls. Choose The Share! (Seriously, Collette’s family is amazing, and I wish I knew them better than I do.)

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The Happy Couple O’ The Day

I present no neckwear on this afternoon’s TIE O’ THE DAY post. On what is the 71st anniversary of Mom and Dad getting hitched, I give y’all three more pix of these wonderful human beings– the Lovebirds o’ the Day.

I snapped the color photo a few weeks before Dad passed away in December 2007. His eyes aren’t playful like they always were before then. In his gorgeous blue eyes, his pain is visible. He managed to stay as long as he did because he loved Mom. She loved him enough to tell him she’d be okay if he needed to go.

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Dad + Mom = True Love

Dad’s Tie o’ the Day sets the tone. Today, we honor the 71st anniversary of the marriage of Mom and Dad, in the Manti Temple. Mom– and the rest of Dad’s family– wishes he was here to celebrate. Helen and Ron had been able to observe their anniversary together for 59 years. Mom’s had to handle the rest of them on her own. She misses him deeply. He was an unforgettable gentleman.

[Yes, that is the actual CHRONICLE announcement of their engagement.]

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Skitter Isn’t A Horse, But She Can Be A Nag

From the very minute Suzanne and I got back home from our trip to the Ozarks, Skitter has been bugging me about how long it’s been since we have driven to Delta to spend the day with Mom. We all miss seeing Mom, but Skitter is downright annoying about it. Even Bow Tie o’ the Day feels annoyed at her. Skitter can fit her wish to see Mom into any sentence that flows from her stinky canine mouth.

For example, she’ll come inside from pottying first thing in the morning, and she’ll say something like, “Grandma would love to sit with me on the patio right now to watch the sun come up over the hills behind our house.” And then, after Skitter finishes her dog chow breakfast, she’ll say, “Grandma’s mush was the best. I’m glad she always saved a little to give me. I need to check on her to make sure she’s eating her breakfast.” And then, mid-morning, Skitter will say to me, “Isn’t this about the time we used to drive Peggy and Grandma to Cardwell’s every day for a drink? Do you think Grandma needs us to take her a drink?” When I fill the gas tank at 7-11, Skitter says, “I bet there’s enough gas in the car now to drive to see Grandma.” And on and on, throughout the day. You know how it is. I’m sure your kids did the same thing to you. If there was something they wanted you to do or buy, they managed to constantly insert the topic into every situation.

I miss Mom every minute of every day, too. But Skitter needs to quit pestering me about it. I go as often as I can. It’s not like I’m going to forget about spending time with Helen Sr. if Skitter doesn’t nag me about visiting her. I’ve started to wear earplugs around the house when it’s just me and The Skit, so I don’t have to hear her talk about it anymore.

And so… this morning, I put on my cowboy boots and a flip flop Bow Tie o’ the Day, and Skitter and I drove 2 1/2 hours to Delta, to Millard Care and Rehab– to spend a chunk of the day with Mom. But the old girl wasn’t there! Nope. The story I got was that Mom and two of her MCR caregivers escaped to an LDS Temple a few minutes before I showed up. You, go, girls!!!

Skitter was so traumatized and sad about not finding Mom at MCR that I had to nearly drag her off Mom’s bed so we could drive right back home. I left a MUNCH candy bar and a bag of chewy ginger cookies on Mom’s pillow so she’ll know I really was there to visit her.

BTW Notice how Mom was so excited to get to the Temple that she didn’t even straighten up her bed before she headed up north.

And another BTW Thank you again, folks of MCR, for treating Mom like the glorious damsel she is.

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A Bigly Day For Pioneers

Bow Tie o’ the Pioneer Day, combined with Shirt o’ the Day, shares some Utah state flag colors with us, minus the gold. I wish to share a few Pioneer Day tidbits o’ trivia.

Did ya know that Pioneer Day is officially a celebration of more than just the LDS pioneers finding their way to the Salt Lake Valley? It’s dedicated to everyone of any faith and any nationality who emigrated to the Salt Lake Valley during the pioneer era, which ended with the completion of the transcontinental railroad in 1869.

In 1886, the Pioneer Day celebration was more of a mourning than a celebration. The Salt Lake Tabernacle was decorated in black bunting. Latter-day Saints who were in hiding or imprisoned for polygamy offenses were eulogized.

You can now attend Pie and Beer (sounds like “pioneer”) Day parties, held by those who find the official July 24th festivities a bit too confining.

Traffic-wise, according to the Utah Department of Public Safety, Pioneer Day has the state’s second highest holiday traffic fatality rate. (July 4th has the highest.)

My own personal Pioneer Day trivia is that I once ate a chocolate-covered, “Mormon-Cricket”-on-a-stick which I bought for $2 at a food booth at Sugarhouse Park. I ate the crunchy critter while we watched the 24th fireworks there one year in the 80’s. The sticked bug tasted okay, but I didn’t need to consume seconds.

FYI The Mormon Cricket did not taste like chicken.