Month: August 2021

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Show-And-Tell

I told you I’d show you Suzanne’s new rug as soon as it got delivered. Well, today is Tuesday, and it was delivered on Saturday morning. It remains in its delivery state. I don’t know why. Before it showed up, I swept and mopped the floor where it’s going to be spread out to live with us. And yet, it remains under wrap. Now, I could do the simple thing and ask Suzanne when she plans to unfurl it. I could ask her why it still looks like a giant’s cigar is on our living room floor. But I won’t. It’s more fun for me to speculate about it. I can make bets with myself about how long it will take her to decide it’s time roll it out. Will today be the day? On the other hand, it wouldn’t surprise me if Suzanne is waiting to see how long it will take me before I can’t stand it anymore and I finally ask her if we can situate the new rug. One of us will speak up first, but it’s not going to be me.

But for now, Skitter is doing her impression of a mighty mountain goat and wearing her blueberry/strawberry/blackberry Tie o’ the Day. Please note Skitter’s tail between her legs as she climbs the frightening heights o’ the rug.

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My Store-bought Water

I stocked up on flavored water this afternoon. Bow Tie o’ the Day is LOL-ing at me for spending a chunk of money on water, which I can easily steal from my own tap for practically nothing, whenever I’m thirsty. There’s no good reason at all to buy water in cans or bottles, except that I like subtle flavors like “blackrazzberry,” “beachplum,” “white peach ginger,” “peach honey,” “raspberry acai,” “blueberry pomegranate,” and “strawberry cucumber.” The faucets in my house do not spew flavored water, and I really don’t want them to. I only started drinking fancy water last summer, when I decided to give it a try. I like certain brands of flavored water so much that I have cut nearly all Diet Coke/Pepsi out of my diet, without even trying to.

Hey! Here’s a water trivia item from my own experience. The finest-tasting water that has ever gone down my gullet is Oak City, UT water during my kidhood. That stuff came right off the mountain and out of my grandparent’s tap. Oak City water was Oak City water back then. It is said that water has no taste, but if you’ve ever had the privilege of drinking good water, you know that it does. It is a flavor all its own.💧

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There’s Smoke In Them Thar Hills

Bow Tie o’ the Day and I are giving y’all a view of the sky out back. It is gray. It is grey. No matter how you spell it, the sky is full of smoke. For the past few days, the mountains to our east have been disappearing right before our eyes. First, we see ’em. And then, we don’t. The smoke moves in, then blows away. Back and forth. And then repeat some more. It’s a slow-motion show through our tall windows, that’s for sure. It’s like watching a snail-paced ocean ebb and flow in the sky. Don’t get me wrong—the wildfires are a tragedy. I am, however, fascinated with how the smoke finds its way to my sky, and how it changes my normal landscape. The natural light falls differently on objects in the house. Behind the smoke, the sunrises and sunsets are vivid with unusual hues. My mountains seem to be playing a game of peek-a-boo with me and Skitter. It’s all very interesting to me, because I am here to see it happen. My advice is simple: While you’re here, notice everything.

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It’s Inevitable

I’ve been a bit bummed out the last few days, and it has nothing to do with the state of my Cranky Hanky Panky. The sweetest angel on the planet—who happens to be my very own mother, Helen Sr.—has caused me to be upset. It’s certainly nothing she’s done intentionally. She doesn’t go around agitating her family or friends, or even the few people she doesn’t necessarily care for all that much. So, what did she do that got my heart in a dither? Well, when I called to check on her at Millard Care and Rehab earlier this week, Mom had to ask me which of her kids I was. That has never happened before. This was a first, which I hoped would never happen at all. I did not like it one bit—no, sir!

To be fair, my siblings and I do all sound remarkably alike, especially on the phone. But still, I am my mother’s babiest baby, and she knows my voice. I think it should be against the law for her to not know my voice. Mom will be 91 next month, and changes like this make it feel like she is gradually moving farther and farther away from us. I feel like she is moving farther away from being the mother of her babiest baby. I hate having to deal with these complicated feelings. Logically, I understand exactly what is happening. It makes perfect sense. I know it is the Circle of Life and all of that stuff. It’s all the feel-y things that go along with these natural changes that get me stirred up.

I also know that as hard as it was for me to hear Mom tell me she didn’t recognize my voice, it was just as hard for her to have to ask me which kid I was. These changes never go just one way. We still need each other’s help to get through it. That’s called empathy. I learned it from my mother.

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In Line

Here I am, standing in the line at the pharmacy to pick up my meds. This is one line I never mind standing in, because the pharmacy line is directly across from the ice cream section of Dick’s Market. You can see it here behind me. While I wait in line, I can survey the current ice cream offerings and make my choices mentally. I’m accomplishing two things at once. After receiving my rx’s, I simply grab my ice cream choices, breeze through the self-pay area, and head home to arm myself with a clean spoon. Life is good.

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My DNA Results Are Back

I thought it was only fitting to wear my cell design Bow Tie o’ the Day in a post about my DNA results which just came in from ancestry.com. I must say that I was disappointed to learn that ancestry.com no longer offers health testing, which can identify things like a person’s genetic tendency to have blood clots or heart problems. That’s the testing I was originally most interested in. I did the “traits” testing instead.

The DNA findings are mostly what I expected. I am definitely related to my family. Duh! I discovered I share more of my DNA with my brother, Ron, than I share with my sister, BT/Mercedes. The test says I have the sprinter gene, which I didn’t even know existed. Interestingly, I learned from the results that bright light is not likely to make me sneeze. My DNA also indicates that I probably notice a distinctive smell when I pee after eating asparagus. In fact, I do. I thought that happened to everyone, but it doesn’t. There—I learned something.

My DNA says I likely have no problem digesting dairy products, and I have a high sensitivity to sugar—both things I can verify by my experience. According to the test results, I likely have “wet” earwax, unattached earlobes, and three types of iris patterns: furrows, crypts, and rings. Yes, I have all those traits. The DNA did not say that I am the whitest white person on the face of the earth, as I was sure it would. There are, however, two traits I have that defy what my genetic code says is likely to be true for me. First, my genes say I likely have wavy hair, but I really have stubbornly straight hair that always came out straighter after I got a permanent. And second, my genetic code says I am likely to not have a unibrow. Oh, but I do. If it weren’t for my dedicated brow landscaping habits, you would see the wonders of my unibrow. And you would be appropriately askeered. Y’all are so lucky that I routinely wield a fancy pair o’ tweezers.

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In Trouble

I’m wearing my in-the-doghouse Tie o’ the Day, which faithful readers of TIE O’ THE DAY will know means I’m in trouble with Suzanne. I should probably wear this tie a lot more often than I do, but I save it for when I’m so far in the doghouse that I’m digging said doghouse a new basement.

It happened like this: Yesterday morning, I came downstairs where Suzanne was sitting at the kitchen table. I proudly and forcefully announced to her, “I’m preparing to die!” I knew the minute the words fell out of my mouth that I had made a bigly miscalculation. Suzanne, the family’s official worrier, was in no mood for me to be ironic and otherwise jokey about my demise.

All I meant by my announcement was that I have a month to get my house in order before surgery—in case. I’m not worried about the “in case,” but I do think it’s always wise to keep the “in case” of a situation in consideration. It would be irresponsible not to.

I’ve “prepared to die” plenty of times before in my life, and Suzanne has always laughed along with me when I mentioned it. When you’re going to move into a different abode, for example, an efficient way to prepare for the move is to think like you’re getting ready to die. You prioritize. You assess all the crap you have, then you get rid of what you know you don’t need anymore. You throw junk away. You donate stuff. You decide to give certain things to people you know might love them like you used to. You get your important papers organized and filed in such a way that someone else can find them if they need to. You make sure the bills are paid early. You thoroughly clean the house. That’s all I meant about preparing to die.

Heck, I even used this prepare-to-die thinking before my prior surgery, and I don’t recall Suzanne having a problem with my terminology or behavior back then. For whatever reason, she’s a bit more touchy about my operation this time around. So I’m in the doghouse. I can respect that. I can also make sure I don’t make any further dramatic, facetious death announcements or let her see me getting rid of clutter that once mattered to me, but no longer does. I will have to prepare to die in secret this time. In case.

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Fruitless Fishing For Pancreatic Calcifications

For my 3rd—and final—ERCP (scope down the throat) of the summer at the University of Utah Hospital, I wore my ever-faithful, ever-amusing Skittles Bow Tie o’ the Day. You’ll note that I also wore my neckties Face Mask o’ the Day for the added good tie vibes I thought might be helpful in my quest to get the proverbial dragons slayed in my Cranky Hanky Panky. But the good doctor, the good bow tie, the good necktie vibes, the good multi-denominational prayers (thanks, y’all) from my family and friends—well, none of it was enough to allow my doc’s gadgets to rip that stone out of my pancreas on his third try. So surgery, it is. Based on past experience with my rocky pancreas, I figured surgery was where I’d end up, right from the start. But sometimes you have to try other things along the way, in the process of getting to the one bigly necessary step you most don’t want to take. Ain’t nobody wanna be sliced open! But, apparently, it is time. Surgery is scheduled for early September at Huntsman. I’m bummed out about it, but I’m also grateful there is a likely solution to my stoopid pancreatic boulder pain.