Category: Delta

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Ya Gotta Be There

Tie o’ the Day flashes the country’s flag and the outline of the contiguous states of the United States o’ America. For the last few years I had the Delta house, we got ourselves all set up to watch the parade in our very own driveway gravel at the side of the road. The minute folks began to stake out their spots with their lawn chairs up on Main Street, I dragged ours out by the road in front of my house– as a gesture of solidarity with the rest of the town, while also gently razzing the tradition of staking off every inch of public parking on the mile-long Delta streets for the few days leading up to the 4th. Nevermind that the road in front of my house and Mom’s house is not, nor has it ever been, on the parade route. It was just fun to sit by the road with Mom and whoever else each day, drinking our sodas, and watching people try to figure out what the heck we were doing as they drove by.

The 4th of July in Delta is basically Christmas in shorts. It’s a bigly deal everywhere in the country, but nothing like in Delta. I have seen a lot of 4th’s in a lot of other places, and I am telling you Delta is the July 4th-iest place to be. It’s not that it has events and things to do which you can’t find at other 4th’s. It offers about the same stuff to do as any other Independence Day celebration I’ve attended, but it offers a key difference: The Spirit o’ the 4th of July. Everybody’s into it. It just plain matters.

There are really only two annual holidays in Delta: Christmas and the 4th of July. If you’ve moved away from Delta, you might come home for Christmas. But you WILL come home for the 4th of July. It’s what you do. I have never met people who feel such an intense desire to go back to their hometowns for the town’s July 4th celebration. Natives and Delta-natives-who-live-elsewhere plan their summer trips around Delta’s 4th of July. I kid you not. If you’re a Delta Rabbit, when you put away the Christmas ornaments each year, you start dragging out the 4th of July decor.

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A Bow Tie Is A Bow Is A Bow

When I turned 8, I was given a bigly birthday bash. I don’t remember anything about it, but this snapshot tells me it happened. Evidently, it was an outdoor party, so I don’t have a clue why we’re wearing dresses. More specifically, why was I– of all people– wearing a dress? At least the dress had a Bow Tie o’ the 8th Birthday belt around the waist. I do remember Mom made this particular dress for me, which explains the bow belt I must have begged her to include in the design.

I am amazed my aging brain can still identify almost every person in my party photo. But I’m also amazed to see a couple of faces who don’t look at all familiar to me. It’s not just that I can’t remember their names: I have no memory of their happy faces. Obviously, I must have known these now-unknown-to-me girls at the time. They must have mattered to me. And now I feel guilty I draw a blank when I see their faces– especially since they probably brought me gifts. How rude of me to not remember them– my pals, my birthday gift-givers.

Of course, maybe if any of y’all can help me identify the young gals I can’t place, knowing their names might make my memory of them smarter.

Back row, left to right: Terilyn Anderson, Cynthia Cox, Shelly Brown, ???, Kris Garrett, Darlene Church, Georgia Grayson (?), ???, Sheila MacArthur, Shaunda Morrill.

Front row, left to right: My nephew Jeff, Vicki Farthing, Brenda Lowder, Thelma Tsosie, Shelly Taylor, ME, Fonda Albertson (?), PJ Clayton.

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Smoke ‘Em, If You Got ‘Em

Checkered-flag Bow Tie o’ the Day is protecting the innocent by hiding the identity of some unfortunate DHS boy who actually went on a date with me in 1980. I don’t remember which dance this was, but the brick wall tells me it was held in the old gym of the old DHS. I seem to remember we went 4-wheeling out by DMAD with another couple before AND after the dance. And then something weird happened, which I can’t seem to remember, and we ended up walking to my house, and then I drove my mystery date to his house.

Don’t think for one minute I’m not wearing a bow tie in this photo. If you look closely, you can see the girl on my sweater is wearing a pink bow tie around her collar. I find bow ties even when I didn’t know I had ’em. They’re just little pieces of the real me, showing up in my history. Some people’s souls throw glitter wherever they go. Apparently, I sprinkle a little trail o’ bow ties on my life’s journey.

The 3-D, pigtail-adorned sweater I’m wearing in this photo is one of my fave pieces of clothing ever. But I ended up wearing it only two or three times. You see, I have this stoopid tendency to “save” my best stuff (clothing, dinnerware, etc.) for speshul, bigly deal occasions. I’m afraid I’ll spill, snag, or otherwise ruin them if I wear them on regular occasions. And then, to compound it, I also worry the next speshul occasion will be speshul-er than this speshul occasion, so I should save the best outfit for the upcoming possibly speshul-er event. And so on.

Before I knew it, my pigtail sweater didn’t fit anymore: I had pubertied into a larger shirt size. My sweater was nearly pristine when I finally had to take it to D.I.. While it fit, I didn’t wear it and enjoy it as much as I could have. That means a gaggle o’ spectators couldn’t enjoy it while I wore it too. My decision to “save” it means I held back a bit o’ joy from others and myself.

We forget that every minute we’re alive is a speshul occasion, and we should wear our best stuff every day if that’s what we want to do. Each of us is important enough to deserve to do speshul stuff just for our own tiny selves. We don’t need to be in front of a grand audience before it’s okay to dazzle and shine while we walk across a room.

We don’t need to feed speshul guests at our table, to use the good plates and cups. We– and the folks around us who love us– are speshul too.

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“It Takes A Long Time To Grow Old Friends”

TIE O’ THE DAY brings flowery Bow Ties o’ the Day in honor of Peggy Crane’s birthdate. Peggy was amused by my neckwear, even as she told me it was weird.

It has been almost two years since Peggy and I last spoke and razzed each other. I was blessed to be able to sit beside her hospital bed and hold her hand for a long while on the day she passed. Throughout our conversation, she was still showing signs of her wild self, despite her rapidly deepening pain. I miss Peggy, and I think of her daily. She was Mom’s best friend, and she was my second mother.

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Once, I Almost Smiled

Some people are BORN TO RUN. Some are BORN TO BE WILD. Some are even BORN TO BUY FABRIC (like Suzanne). I was BORN TO BE BIPOLAR. I probably won’t be making a silly t-shirt or bumper sticker about it though. I joke around about my escapades in lunacy, but I also take my brain’s mood pendulum seriously. While combing through photos, in an effort to learn more about my brain’s life, I made a discovery. In pix of me as a child, I wasn’t usually smiling bigly, animatedly, or even cheesily– the way most kids do. Even as a kid, I carried a hidden darkness. I was around 6 months old in this photo, which shows me wearing an almost-smile. This is a rare snapshot of 1964-baby-HEW coming close to actually showing a happy, bigly smile as a kid.

[NOTE: Not only do I think I was born with my crazy head, I know I was born with my Spock ear. See, it’s there atop my left ear.]

Bow-tied Bow Tie o’ the Day is helping me act out on some infantile ridiculousness this afternoon. I admit it: The 1964-baby-HEW is jealous of the newest baby in the Wright clan, Grace Anne Blackwelder. I’ve been posting so many pix of her, and posts about her, that 1964-baby-HEW has developed a severe case of jealousy. In my family, it’s all about Gracie right now. “Gracie! Gracie! Gracie!” I’m even jealous of all the attention I, myself, pay to Gracie. I childishly believe Gracie has thrown down the pacifier-gauntlet, and now the baby duel is on. 1964-baby-HEW v. Baby Grace Anne. I’m cheering for Gracie. I want her to win.

That’ll make 1964-baby-HEW even more jealous. And thus, the infantile, bitter absurdity of the life of babies goes on. Just kidding. 😁🤣

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Trespassing On City Water

Tie o’ the Day was given to me by my bro–in-law, Nuk. I think of it as a summer tie, or more specifically, a tie for the water. Tie’s wearer can blow it up on one end, which makes it a safety tie one can wear with a life jacket. Air-filled Tie can also be Skitter’s floatie, as is seen here.

I mentioned Delta’s old outdoor swimming pool in one of yesterday’s posts, and the topic got some of you reminiscing about “old pool love” right along with me.

The long-demolished Delta pool was set on the corner of the property where The Sands is currently located. Its structure was basic: a swimming pool, with a single diving board; an office and dressing rooms. In the office, you could buy chips, sodas, candy, and Popsicles from Arjanna Wood, who ran the joint. I guess you could say Arjanna’s office was Delta’s first convenience store.

The pool was surrounded by tall cinder block walls. I’m just guessing the walls were somewhere in the ballpark of 10-feet tall. I never took time out of the fun I was having to measure the pool wall height.

I remember waiting anxiously every year for the city to get the word the Utah Health Department had once again declared the pool sanitary and safe enough to be opened for at least one more summer. The state’s annual stamp o’ approval quit happening in the mid-70’s. To be honest, the Health Department probably should have closed down the open-air pool we dearly loved long before it did. But I’m glad they didn’t. The slippery, cracked place was a blast. It was a palace to those of us who made it a second home for the summer.

The city’s “cement pond” was also a blast after dark when it wasn’t officially open. Think about it: Outdoor pools can’t really close. It wasn’t difficult to sneak in after dark. Ropes, ladders, milk crates, even backhoes were just a few implements we used to get ourselves inside for a midnight swim. You simply had to make sure you pulled your break-in tools over the wall with you, eliminating your outside-the-wall trail.

I know one doofus and his group of friends who threw a ladder against the outside wall and didn’t pull it in after everyone snuck inside. The cop out on patrol saw that clue right away. Doh! Heck, I watched a herd of at least a dozen kids ride their bikes to the pool around 2 in the morning, and then were dough-headed enough to leave their bikes piled up outside one of the pool walls. Cop noticed the mound o’ bikes. Hey, people, if you’re going to commit a prank, don’t tell on yourselves by leaving bigly clues. Just a thought.

The real trick to not getting caught trespassing in the Delta pool at night was to not emit too much noise. It was best if you didn’t yell or cackle or do a cannonball. Delta is not a loud village. It especially wasn’t loud in the 70’s, and the city cops made their rounds through the town faithfully. If a cop caught you trespassing in the pool, you weren’t in too much trouble if you hadn’t been drinking or smoking or damaging the property. The cop would usually drive you right to your house (like free Uber) and chat with you and your parents. That was as far as your legal concerns went. For better or worse, your fate was up to your parents. 😱 Fortunately for me, Dad had harmlessly trespassed into many an outdoor pool in his youth too. He understood the exuberance of kidhood.

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A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Fashions

I soooo wish Mom and I had been wearing Bow Ties o’ the Day like these when this photo was snapped in front of my kidhood house. I think Mom’s holding my nephew, Jeff. He was her first grandchild, and he is certain he is her favorite. Check out Mom’s hair. Once again her hair looks like it just got did. What a put-together broad! Mom has always been a hair-done-once-a-week-whether-it-needs-it-or-not woman.

Guess which photo star is I?! I chose today’s photo offering as evidence that I have always had my own style. I have always been fashion-forward. I wish I still had these cowboy boots. I would bronze them like parents used to bronze their babies’ first pair of shoes, and then display them on an important shelf in their living room for visitors to gaze upon. I remember riding my bike in these boots. I remember walking up to the outdoor Delta pool twice daily in my swimming suit and cowboy boots. I wish I had a snapshot of that.

It was a sad day for me when I outgrew my cowboy boots. But I got over it pretty quickly when I discovered saddle shoes. (The saddle purse had not yet been born.) And after saddle shoes, I moved on to Hush Puppies, then Earth Shoes, and I am sure you’re aware that recently my feet have walked a mile in my many Sloggers. You think my middle name is Eileen? Heck, my middle name has always been STYLE.

I have shown you my Sloggers garden shoes collection in some of my post pictures over the past couple of years, and I have loved them so. I have worn Sloggers every day since I discovered them, but I am Sloggered-out. I feel the need for the changin’ o’ the footwear. I now want a different style of shoes. My Sloggers are pretty hashed anyway, so it’s a practical matter as well as a fashion move.

Perhaps a fancy pair of cowboy boots is in my near future. Now that it’s summer, I can recreate the style I exhibited in this photo every day. Shorts, boots, and neckwear. And, of course, I will add a touch of clash, which is my signature. A total ensemble like that strikes me as my next personal style trend. I hadn’t even thought of dressing like my 6-year-old me before I just wrote it. Now, I’m excited for the boot hunt!

Suzanne will roll her eyes, but enjoy every minute of my new-old style phase. It’s what she does. Somethin’ ain’t right with that girl.

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Merry Father’s Day

Y’all have seen this Polaroid snapshot before, but it demands a repeat look. It’s perfect for Father’s Day. Check out the two Colonel Sanders-type Bow Ties o’ That Day hanging on the wall.

This picture was taken at my M.I.A. 1976 Daddy, Daughter Date night. It was held in the gym of the long-demolished Delta 2nd Ward church. I remember square-dancing with Dad and Grant Crane. When I look back on that night, except for a few moments of Grant, I remember only Dad. Somehow, it seemed no one else was there.

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It’s The Simple Things

Sometimes all we need to do in order to have a great day is to see two orange Bow Ties o’ the Day framing a photo of Mom and her just-done hairdo drinking her Pepsi o’ the Day while sitting on her porch in her underwear after just knee-mopping her kitchen floor.

BTW I purposely didn’t use commas in that sentence cuz I wanted it to run on and on. If you’re not sure what effect I’m going for, read the sentence out loud without pausing anywhere.

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In Ancient Times

I cleared out more files yesterday and found these two gems. I figured I could combine them for a two-fer: Bow Tie o’ the Day and Tie o’ the Day. I must say I have no clue why I was attempting to climb into DHS through a classroom window. Nor do I have a clue who was there to take a photo of me doing it. But seriously, who breaks IN to high school? And look at the minuscule amount of weight I was lifting in P.E. How in the world could lifting that not-heavy amount of weight make my armpit sweaty? It’s a mystery.

The neckwear thing was merely a sometimes passion during my years at DHS, but that can be explained by the fact that teenagers are, by definition, not so bright. Teenagers’ brains haven’t caught up with their growing bodies. I was too stoopid to know I was in love with neckwear. I remember I usually wore clip-on bow ties on my baseball shirts to play church softball, but other than that, the wearin’ o’ the neckwear at events was sporadic for me. Still, it’s obvious the whim-seed was there and maturing right along with the rest of me.

Most people mature. They grow up. They learn to think beyond the next two hours. Some people do not. I remember there was a time I was young enough to know all the answers. I’m glad I grew out of being confident I was right all the time, before I did irreparable damage to my life. People who know everything haven’t matured, and often their knowing everything causes them to screw up their lives– and sometimes others’ lives. (Add examples from your own life here.) Successful, content human beings can admit to being wrong and making mistakes. They can admit they will always have much to learn from others and from continuing to participate in new experiences.

As I grow older, I can admit I know less and less about everything. And it’s a tremendous blessing. The pressure is off. I can roll with the world as it is, and I can also try to make it a more loving place in ways I believe in– knowing I don’t have to be right. “Right” lives next door to “perfect,” and I am not perfect.

Being intelligent is one thing. But deluding yourself that you, and only you, know all the right answers for every problem and every human being on the planet is a bigly, arrogant burden for a person to bear. Knowing the right questions to ask oneself and others– and to be content to wrestle with those unanswerable questions– is one of the secrets of living in joy.

Of course, I don’t know all the answers, so I could be wrong about everything I just wrote.

End of Sabbath sermon.