Month: July 2020

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Me? Climb The Water Tower? No Comment.

Red and white Tie o’ the Day dresses up as the Delta Water Tower, with the aid of our water heater. The red “D” reigns, no matter what town I take off my cowboy boots in.

We’ve lived in our Centerville house eight years. It was new when we moved in. Guess what time it is? Time for the house and whatever came with it to need some little tweaks. Last week, the ice maker in the fridge simply stopped making ice. No smoke, no sputtering, no subtle dying creaks. It made ice, then it didn’t. Enter, the refrigerator repairman. He tinkered around in the guts of the freezer door, but he could find nothing wrong. Exit, the repairman and his fee. He must have done something though, because the ice maker is making ice now. It must have just wanted some attention from someone who understood it. Go figure.

And then there’s the plumbing. When the master bath shower is first turned on, there is a growing rumbling o’ the pipes throughout the house. I was outside on the morning of the 4th of July, and I could hear the pipes grumble when Suzanne got in the shower. The outside world should not have to hear our pipes. Also, the water pressure in the shower is almost zero. Lately when I shower, I feel like I’m standing under a rain cloud that drops rain one raindrop at a time. Dribble, dribble.

So I spent most of Wednesday watching the plumber do whatever he needed to do. A bigly bill later, and the pipes haven’t grumbled again. The water pressure in the shower is now restored. Victory! Almost. There are still a couple of water issues Suzanne’s not satisfied with, so I’ll be hosting the plumber again soon. I am a writer by trade. But I know my real job is to keep Suzanne happy—even with the plumbing.

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A Skitter Update, And Suzanne’s Sweet & Salty Birthday

Excuse TIE O’ THE DAY’s absence yesterday. We had a playdate with the plumber for most of the day at our house. (You’ll get that story at a later time.) Peace Bow Tie o’ the Day and I will begin this post with an update on Skitter’s ear problems. The vet discovered Skitter’s left ear has BLACK MOLD! Well, not exactly. She has a fungal infection deep in her ear, for which I’m giving her ear drops daily. But it’s much funnier to say she has black mold. Suzanne even believed me when I told her that’s what it was. Her eyebrows got really high! And I could see her having visions of spending bigly bucks to tear up the house and rid it of whatever black mold might be lurking in its walls, which had surely—somehow—given Skitter an ear infection. I had to say, “Whoa!” to Suzanne. I had to explain I was making a joke by labeling Skitter’s fungal infection “black mold.” I NEVER have to explain my hokey-jokey names for things to Suzanne. She always gets my humor. But it was her birthday, so I understood she had her mind on the festivities. Skitter will be fine in a couple of weeks.

For Suzanne’s birthday, we stayed home this year. It’s a bit pandemic-y out there right now, so I designed her birthday celebration with that in mind. Suzanne is good about no longer eating certain favorite “foods,” so her blood pressure is happy. But I decided to give her the gift of freely eating junk food for one evening. One by one, at various time intervals, I paraded out many courses of sweet, salty, and non-nutritional eats. The menu was as follows: Hostess Birthday Cake-flavor Cupcakes; Starburst jelly beans; a Birthday Cake-flavor Kit-Kat; popcorn; peanut M&M’s; Chocolate Peanut Butter Pie OREO’s; Fat Boy Birthday Cake Ice Cream; and—drum roll—my famous Potato Chip Birthday Cake. Suzanne was so full of bad-for-everybody food that she had to wait until the next day to eat my specialty, which is microwaved (no more than 10 seconds) Skittles.

BTW I purposely wore my salad tie to the grocery store when I bought all the junk food. I forgot to take a selfie at the store. Sorry.

Another BTW The party hats are mermaid tails. They were supposed to be for Gracie’s first birthday, but they weren’t delivered to me in time for that. Skitter’s mermaid tail is a little under the weather here, surely reflecting the discomfort of her black mold situation. Mermaid tails sure look dandy on us though, eh?

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Merry Birthday To Suzanne!

Today, Suzanne is officially as many years old as I am. We are now both fifty-damn-six. This photo was taken at least 50 years ago, but she looks just the same to me. As a gift to her, I gave her photo a matching Bow Tie o’ the Day. We share the same year of birth, but we do not share fashion choices. Suzanne likes her ensembles to match. I like my outfits to have strains of head-bangin’ loud clash. Suzanne puts up with my fashion style by not looking directly at me. I guess I’m kinda like the sun. My outlandish costumes—and my effusive personality—have no doubt caused her many a headache. She used to get migraines regularly, but since she started forcing her eyes to look away from my duds, she has been relatively migraine-free.

Merry Migraine-free, Pandemic Birthday, Suzanne! I love you more than my bow ties. But let’s not tell them that.

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Nuts, And Bolts, And Screws—Oh My!

I’ve got a wood-lookin’ fabric, nuts-and-bolts-and-screws Bow Tie o’ the Day to offer y’all. Purple butterfly Face Mask o’ the Day had me covered when I erranded at the bank and the grocery store. Beyond that, I’ve been unable to concoct a story or sermon for you. Even as I type this post, Skitter has her muzzle on my laptop, which makes typing tough. She has a very bad infection or something going on in her left ear, and she thinks she has to have my complete attention. You know how kids are when they don’t feel good. They neeeeeeeed you to be right there suffering along with them. Skitter’s been like a clingy dryer sheet to me all day. Thank the heavens her vet is squeezing us in, first thing in the morning.

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Okey-dokey

The Bow Ties of the 4th of July happened, but the air parade we were supposed to see above us as we sat on the deck did not come to pass. The city said it was canceled at the last minute because of problems with insurance. Most of our development didn’t get that memo, so we were all outside looking to the skies. We each did our social distancing by staying on our own property, but socializing with each other very loudly. Gradually, the news of the air parade’s cancellation got texted, tweeted, screamed, and facebooked up and down the street. Oh, well. We got to see the regular air traffic in the blue sky anyway. Hey, we’re free! No complaints here.

As you can see from her pix, Skitter had dressed in her patriotic tie to watch the parade. She’s still a little unclear of the concept of how to watch any kind of parade. On the deck, her skittishness kept her staring into the house the entire time, instead of out at the neighborhood or up at the skies.

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4th o’ July

I had a tough time choosing neckwear today. Here in Centerville, we’re having an air parade later this morning. Social distancing is truly the etiquette of 2020. But what does one wear to sit on their deck to watch an air parade? Should I go with the patriotic stick mustache-and-bow-tie, or do I don the patriotic stick necktie? Nope. As is my usual 4th of July custom, I’m going with the Constitution Bow Tie o’ the Day. Have fun safely today, my fellow citizens.

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A House Divided. Not.

I spent my childhood living in two houses simultaneously, without ever moving. Mom and Dad lived next door to my dad’s parents, Walter and Zola Walker Wright. In this slide, my grandma is wearing a kinda Bow Tie o’ the Day. ( I can’t tell for sure if the bow is attached to her dress or her apron.) If I wasn’t found in one house, I was likely to be found in the other. Or I was out in what felt to me like one bigly yard. The horse corral and the vegetable garden and the bee warehouse were out back behind the two houses. The whole spread was like my own private amusement park. I wrung the fun out of every inch of the buildings, machinery, and the land. I hated to take the time to sleep. My world, on that tiny portion of a block, seemed endlessly fascinating, and I couldn’t wait to get started exploring and playing every day. I was free, yet safe there. I was making my way through the world on my own. I was learning, hands-on. I would never feel that free, confident, or that safe again in my life.

Looking back, I realize I was very well supervised, though I felt completely independent at the time. I must have sensed somehow that I was safe and looked after. I do recall seeing Mom and Momo having impromptu chat sessions in the driveway between our houses. Many times, I would see them both turn to me as I arrived on the scene, and I would hear a duet of, “There you are!” in my direction. I am positive these little chats were more like a conference on the mound in baseball, where the two checked in with each other about my travels and then strategized about my care and supervision for the rest of the day.

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A Very Teeny, Tiny Mortgage

So what did I actually do with my time while I wasn’t writing TIE O’ THE DAY posts during my recent bout of bipolar depression? Well, most of what I did was try to make it through one hour at a time. I’m sure I’ll fill you in on some of my murkier activities, which—to be more accurate—were more like non-activities. But I’ve dealt with the swing of this bipolar pendulum all my life, and I know one way to make it through is to make appointments and show up—no matter how I’m feeling. I made an appointment with Gracie.

A few days earlier, Suzanne and I had participated in an annual silent auction benefitting Davis Schools. It’s usually a bigly dinner event where we dress up and make a night of it. COVID-19 put the brakes on that sort of event this year, so we sat at home and bid on items by iPhone while watching tv. The oddest thing happened! Every auction item I bid on that night—and eventually won—was for someone Gracie’s age. How weird is that? I didn’t see that coming.

I texted Gracie’s Mom, the beauteous Bishopette Collette, to set up a time I could deliver the haul. She said she’d check with Bishop Travis, my nephew supreme, for a workable drop-off time when they would all be around.

In honor of Bishop Travis and Bishopette Collette, I wore my BYU Tie o’ the Day when I made the delivery. They appreciated it. Grace, however, didn’t remember me at all. I mean—I hadn’t seen her since right before X-mas, which means I hadn’t seen her for half of her one-year life! I was glad I wore my cow shoes. Grace warmed up to them and kept trying to take them off my feet. I’ll wear my chicken shoes next time, and she’ll never forget me again.

I delivered Gracie some stuffed beasts to hug, a play vet kit, and something called a Cottage Playhouse, which needed to be assembled. I apologized to Travis and Collette about bringing something in need of assembly. I have known Bishop Travis his entire life, and he is a man o’ many talents. Putting things together is not one of them. When I apologized about the cottage’s unassembled state, Travis and Collette—almost in unison—said, “That’s why we have Lela.” Lela is Collette’s neice, who takes care of Grace when Travis and Collette are working. I was glad Lela was there with them the day I delivered the gifts, and I was especially glad to know she would be the official General Contractor of the playhouse. You can see Lela in one of the pics here, actually smiling while assembling. I bet Lela whistles while she works too.

On my drive home, after I left the Blackwelder’s with a new house to build, I realized that I can forever brag that I bought Gracie her first house. And Lela can brag that she built it.

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Peek-a-boo! There It Is!

Wood Bow Tie o’ the Day and parrot Face Mask o’ the Day were grocery shopping with me at DICK’S when I realized I’m not the only one who is back in the public eye. Yup, the toilet paper is back on the shelves and in mountainous stacks throughout the store.

COVID-19 has made it such that we have all had to make a few changes in our routines, like donning masks and doing our best at social distancing. During these days o’ the pandemic, I am most proud of something I HAVEN’T had to do. During the upheaval of the last three or four months, I haven’t had one toilet paper supply worry. In our house, there has been no need for toilet paper panic or toilet paper hoarding. (Well, at first, Suzanne occasionally panicked about the size of our tp stash, but it was totally unnecessary. I had it covered, with rolls to spare.)

As the li’l homemaker-during-the-pandemic that I am, I am proud to say we have never run out of the ample supply of toilet paper I always keep stocked in our garage. To be honest, I guess you could say that keeping us supplied with the correct amount of toilet paper is about the only real homemaking skill I have. I certainly can’t cook. Overseeing the household tp supply is my one skill, so I have to pat myself on the back about my stellar permanent record on that front. A lot of people were caught with their pandemic pants down about the toilet paper, if ya know what I mean. Not I.

I wonder. Is my single, house-y skill of being Toilet Paper Monitor Extraordinaire alone mighty enough to justify my entire existence on the face of the earth? Why, yes! Yes, it is. Those of you who have ever had to scramble for a square or six of “bathroom tissue” know I’m right. In fact, I’ve probably always been worth my weight in toilet paper.

FYI I have been a zillion places. I have met a zillion people. But I have NEVER heard anyone actually refer to toilet paper as “bathroom tissue,” despite what the labels on the packaging say. Talk about hoity-toity!