This Tie o’ the Day is titled by its seller, “Feliz Navidog.” The dog’s snowflake sweater reminds me of a trio of winter outfits Suzanne created many years ago for the three mutts we lived with at that time. She cut the sleeves off an old sweatshirt. She cut 4 leg holes in each of the sleeves, and also in the body of the sweatshirt. She did some clean-up sewing on the dogs’ new attire. Voila! Araby, our yellow lab, wore the body of the sweatshirt. Vinnie and Roxy, our mini-dachshunds, each wore a sleeve. They were warm and stylin’ in the snowy outdoors of Delta, while wearing their Suzanne-made doggie sweatshirts. I, on the other hand, was chilly and missing a sweatshirt.
From my earliest days as a beachgoer at Gunnison Bend Reservoir, a.k.a, the Rez, I have loved sand, water, and sun. When I was in my older kidhood, I rode my bike the 6 miles to the western-most shore of the Rez every day of summer when I had time, unless my Sister Who Wishes To Remain Nameless had a day off work. If she did, she drove us out to the water to bake under the desert sun on our bigly beach towels. Ah, the smell of Coppertone coconut oil lotion sizzling on our skin.
On the beach, we listened to static-y AM radio stations broadcasting out of Provo, on a clunky transistor radio fueled by D-size batteries. It weighed as much as a jackhammer. We read magazines and paperbacks we had bought at Service Drug or the Rexall, and we drank Tab and Diet Rite Cola—in glass bottles. We ate Clover Club potato chips with Nalley’s dill pickle dip. I had a one-person blow-up raft I lazily paddled across the Rez. I had a goal of crossing over and around the bend to the Sherwood Shores side of the Rez in my little raft, but I never did for some reason. I’m not crying about it, or anything. It was never a Bucket List kind of goal.
The wind at the Rez—as in Millard County, in general—seemed to breeze up almost every day around 5pm, if it hadn’t already been stirring sand up earlier. When the Rez began to get choppy, it was time to get home for a quick supper. I was always eating summer dinner in a perpetual hurry. I had places to be. I had to head uptown on my bike to Delta’s outdoor swimming pool for the evening swim session—to splash in yet another local body of water, and to walk-don’t-run-by-the-pool under what was left of the sunlight on perfect summer days. Even as a child, deep in my skin, I could feel the burn of vintage moments passing.
Holiday Tie Tally: 60 Neckties. 10 Bow Ties.
#amaskadaykeepsthecovidaway #wearthedangmask
That’s a yellow bow on my hat. There’s one on the other side of my hat too.That’s not my cool, bigly beach towel, of which I wrote. It’s somewhere around there though, I promise.
This cartoon showed up in my Facebook messages yesterday, along with a brief note from Peggy’s daughter, Julie. (For anyone who doesn’t already know, Peggy was Mom’s best friend for over 60 years, until Peggy passed away. They each cooked and cooked. And they were proud of their bewitching ways.) Julie wrote that she had come across this a few weeks ago, and even made a card out of it to send to Mom. The cartoon fits them to a “T.” I messaged back my thanks to Julie for thinking to make it into a card and send it to Mom—as well as letting me in on it. No sooner had I hit the return key to send the message than I realized “Helen” and “Peggy” were in Mom’s handwriting. It was also a NEW YORKER magazine cartoon. It dawned on me this thing started out with me finding it in a magazine years ago! I was beginning to recall a general sense of how this came full circle.
Here’s my memory’s best theory: I saw the cartoon in THE NEW YORKER magazine and—recognizing my two favorite classy witches, Mom and Peggy—tore it out or copied it, then handed it to Mom. I have no doubt that when I gave it to her, I said something snarky like, “Mom, here’s a picture of you and Peggy in the news again, wreaking havoc.” Of course, Mom must have then passed it on to Peggy (because I don’t remember doing it), but not before making it funnier by clearly identifying who’s who, by writing both of their names on it for all the world to see. Mom and Peggy, together, were The Bobbsey Twins. I was merely an occasional third wheel in the drinking-Pepsi-and-driving movie of their lives.
You know how I am about coincidences, signs, and such. As I’ve said before, folks, we’re all connected. Everything is connected. What we do will come back to us. We will likely one day need aid from the very people we have hurt or ignored. That, too, will come back to torment us, if only in our own memories.
This cartoon is just a simple, light-hearted drawing that found its image all the way back to me, causing me to think of Mom and Peggy with a full and grateful joy. I’m glad it was a good thing that found it’s way back in my direction. Imagine if it had been a mean-spirited thing I had said or done to them that ricocheted back to me—with Peggy three-years-gone now, and Mom now quarantined in her room at the care center. I am happy to report that as far as I can recall, I have no regrets about my dealings with either of the two giant witches who so shaped my sensibilities and taught me to sharpen my broomstick when necessary. Besides, I have a feeling that if I’d ever gotten out of line with either of those dames, I would have gotten my what-goes-around-comes-around karma back from both of them right then and there.
FYI I did a little research about the cartoon this afternoon, and found that it was drawn by Sam Gross, and published in the June 23, 2014 issue of THE NEW YORKER. I had a subscription to the magazine then, as I do now. And it is worth every penny the subscription has cost me over the decades, just to have Julie send this to me yesterday.
My creepy face in this morning’s photo reminded me about this photo, in which I find my visage to be almost as creepy. This snapshot is from the early 2000’s. I am shown here with my Sister Who Wishes To Remain Nameless, at the Pub in Delta. You can see I was at what I call “my beer-drinkin’ weight.”
I hope I don’t look like this regularly, but the creepiness is there in my eyes sometimes. They make me look like I’m hatching a plan to commit mayhem and slay zombies. With my mesmerEYEzing eyes, I could sell used cars, or hypnotize people to write-in my name for President on their ballots. Hey, I’m always in search of a new experience. Your eyelids are getting very heavy….You are getting sleeeeepy…..sleeeeepy…..
BTW When I started TIE O’ THE DAY, my Sister Who Wishes To Remain Nameless was hesitant to have her real name mentioned on it, even though most of y’all know her name anyway. Someone asked me recently if I think she will ever let me refer to her by her actual name, and my answer to that question is this: Even if SWWTRN says it’s okay to use her name, I won’t refer to her in any way other than SWWTRN—because after all these years, SWWTRN is now a real character on the tblog. It makes me chuckle every time I type those capital letters.
This photo is from a December 2018 visit we had with Mom at MCR. Leg lamp Tie o’ the Day is, of course, from my Christmas neckwear collection. Don’t be afraid! I’m not rolling out the X-mas ties quite yet. But I thought this would be an appropriate post picture for the Halloween season because it shows me with a truly creepy look on my face. Mom is happy, though, so what else matters?
Mom had a stupendous time on her 90th birthday, even in the midst of a pandemic. She dressed up in her Sunday best. She had her earrings clipped on. Her phone was all charged up and ready for birthday callers. All five of her kids sat outside the MCR hall window, taking turns talking to her by phone on the outside side of the glass. We siblings set up socially distanced lawn chairs, and chatted and laughed with each other while Mom watched us intently through the window. I know it is always a gift for Mom to watch us enjoy ourselves sibling-ing together, being happy to be her kids. By the time we got around to taking a picture of us “with” Mom, two of my siblings were nowhere to be found. I am joined here in one photo by BT/Mercedes and Ron—and Mom, who’s proudly displaying her birthday cake. Bow Tie o’ the Day is covered in joyous emojis, and I am pleased to say my Batman socks—with their tiny capes—were a hit with Mom (and everyone else). She said she liked them before I’d even had a chance to purposely show them off to her. She’s ancient, but she notices all the important details in life.
Bigly thanks to my Sister Who Wishes To Remain Nameless for arranging for birthday decorations and posters to be set up inside MCR, and for having a celebratory cake made for Mom and “smuggled” in. My SWWTRN also decorated right outside Mom’s window, so the first thing Mom saw when she looked outside that morning was a display of balloons and words telling her she had, indeed, made it to 90. Kathi and Robbie’s family made posters they then plastered onto MCR’s windows for Mom and the rest of the residents to enjoy.
Mom has been receiving a steady stream of flowers, cookies, gifts, window visits, and phone calls over the past few weeks. And, of course, she has been receiving cards galore! I asked Mom if she knows how many birthday cards she’s received over the past couple of weeks, and she lifted up a handful of unopened cards she had gotten in the mail that very day. There were at least a dozen unopened envelopes in her hand. She says she has not counted all the cards and letters yet, but that she knows “there are a lot.” I can say from taking a glance through the window into her room that piles of cards dot every flat surface. I know how my mother is, and I know darn well she will read and re-read her birthday cards from now until she’s 91, and beyond. They will provide her much joy and nostalgia, especially in the absence of in-person visits. Thanks, y’all!
To all of you who sent birthday greetings to Mom in any form, I and my siblings—and Mom—are grateful for your love for her. She feels rightly adored and spoiled. You helped to make Mom’s Pandemic 90th Birthday a many-people-involved, grand occasion for her.
This photo of Mom and my candy corn Bow Tie o’ Last October is a fitting tribute to the almost 90-year-old gal who is my mother, since she will be the first to tell you she is proud to be a witch. Every Halloween season, Dad reminded her to sharpen her broom, and she would assure him she had already done it, so he better straighten up.
I won’t be posting tomorrow, on Mom’s actual birthday, because I will be busy waving Merry Birthday to her through the Millard Care and Rehab windows. We plan to spend the day with her—masked and socially distanced from any others there to celebrate Mom’s milestone with her. Skitter has already picked out the Tie o’ the Day she’s going to be wearing for Mom to see.
I’ll shoot pix and take notes of the socially distanced, non-gathering gathering. I hope I can snap lots of photos of Mom in action, on the other side of the glass. Also, I’ll try to get a birthday card count. Y’all have sent Mom a boatload of cards and notes and even gifts. I thank you for playing a bigly part in Mom’s Contactless Pandemic 90th Birthday. I’ll blow Mom a kiss through the window, from y’all.
You know the undeniable “IT” characteristic people always talk about charismatic people having? Mom has always exuded “IT” from every skin pore and hair follicle.
Yup, that’s all this is: Mom eating her oatmeal mush on my front porch one morning. (FYI Mom puts Half & Half on her mush.) Mom was not being shy for the camera here. She was laughing so hard at something I said that she was on the verge of spitting her mush, and I wanted to capture it on film if it happened. Oh, how I wish I could remember what I said that caused her such a laughing fit, cuz I would certainly write it down here for y’all to read—at the risk of causing you to spit your own mush.
Here’s a picture of Mom and her sisters, and their mom, Martha Anderson. [Grandma is front and center. From left to right: Shirley, Arlene, Rosalie, Barbara, Mom.] This photo was taken at the Hotel Utah in the early 70’s, where these lasses would occasionally get together for a mother-daughters sleepover for a night or two—away from the hubbies and wild kids, and away from having to cook and clean. I can only imagine the cackle-fest which ensued when they took over the hotel.
You can see from the photo that by that time, Grandma had already lost her right eye. At first, she wore a glass eye in public. She wasn’t vain. She simply did not want to scare children. However, the prosthesis bothered her bigly, so she finally quit wearing it completely. (But not before she dropped it in my car once while I was driving her to the Provo temple, and it rolled around on the floor mats as I drove, cuz we were running late and Grandma wouldn’t let me stop the car until we got to the temple. Oooo, that’s a story I need to write about for y’all. ) Grandma preferred to cover the right lens of her glasses so no one could see her eyeless eye. It wept constantly.
The second photo shows a perfect example of Mom’s cleverness. This is a pic of the cake Mom commissioned Marcia Meacham to create for Grandma’s 90th Birthday party at the old Delta care center. The cake captures Grandma’s quiltiness. And I so like the tiny ears of corn dotting some of the “quilt” squares. But the best cake detail is the covered right lens on Grandma’s glasses. Grandma—and the rest of the partygoers—got a true kick out of it.
