My Two Desks, And Some Flowers

Here Bow Tie o’ the Day and I are in my over-stacked, over-messy writing loft. Two desks, a few crates, and two cabinets do not provide enough space for my files. My piles overfloweth.

But at least I’m wearing a flowery bow tie, which I wore to Suzanne’s office to watch her eat lunch. I wanted to take her flowers, but she has allergies. My bloomin’ bow ties solve the problem. If I’m wearing one, Suzanne knows it means I’m metaphorically giving her a bouquet. Bow Tie’s flowers are also more cost-effective than real flowers. That’s an added bonus. No matter the price though, I’d still give her fresh flowers if she wouldn’t sneeze the petals onto the floor.

Dad had horrible allergies, which is beyond inconvenient if you’re a beekeeper. Alfalfa fields and orchards were his offices. One summer evening, after a long day in the bee yards, Dad was reading the newspaper in his chair, which sat just inside the front door by our house’s picture window. The door was open to the screen door, in order to get some air moving through the stuffy house. The house didn’t yet have an air conditioner, so opening the door was absolutely necessary.

Suddenly that evening, Dad got into a prize-winning, allergy-induced sneezing fit. He said nothing. He folded his newspaper closed, got up, and walked out the back door. A few minutes later, he was outside the picture window with a shovel, digging up every marigold in Mom’s flower bed, which was right below the big window. When he was done, he came in through the front door, sat back down in his chair, and opened up his Salt Lake Tribune. He didn’t say a word. And neither did Mom when she saw her marigolds turned over in clumps of dirt. She just shoveled them into the wheelbarrow, hauled them out back, and torched them. That was the end of Mom growing flowers anywhere in our yard. Home should be a place where your allergies can calm down a bit.

This story demonstrates how Mom and Dad understood each other so well that sometimes they didn’t even need to discuss a problem. They simply cut to the result they would have ended up with if they’d had the argument in the first place. It saved them time and energy, and possible hurt feelings. Do not think for one millisecond that their un-argued arguments always went in Dad’s favor. Mom gave as good as she got.

Dressing For Chores

All paisley, all the time. See, you can have a common thread to your outfit, while still creating the proper clashion. Hat o’ the Day, Cufflinks o’ the Day, Shirt o’ the Day, Vest o’ the Day (which I named the Pimp Vest), and– most importantly– Bow Tie o’ the Day combine to create a clash extraordinaire. I think this is some of my top work. I’m a proud momma of my fashion creation. Paisles are my fave “shape” with which to work my unmatchiness. I suppose my goal to clash makes me a non-matchmaker.

Perhaps I am overdressed for my day’s tasks. First they are all tasks I need to do at home. Cleaning, laundry, etc.. I will probably leave the house only for Skitter’s walkie. But what I’ll be spending most of my task-time doing is going through the storage bins and boxes in the garage, looking for ONE thing: a shoebox-sized box which holds half-a-dozen cassette tapes I recorded with my Grandma, Martha Anderson in 2000.

Grandma had fallen and broken her hip and shoulder. She was in the Delta hospital for a week or so before she could return to her apartment in The Sands. I stayed at the hospital with her each night. Well, Grandma must have gotten all of the sleep she would ever need in the preceding decades because she did not sleep. So we talked. At some point I started to record her stories. When I showed up at the hospital each night, I turned on the recorder and let it go. I haven’t listened to them for years. Life gets busy and you forget to do important things like that. Shame on us.

I know I still have the tapes somewhere, because I remember packing them up in Delta when we moved the contents of the Delta house up here. But I have no clue in which bin I so safely stored them. My biggest concern is that the tapes might not still be in playing condition after nearly two decades. I’ve kept them safe, but I can’t keep them safe from the passing of time. I no longer own a cassette player, but Betty/BT/Mercedes (whatever name you call my oldest sister) still has the one she got as a prize on WHEEL OF FORTUNE in the 80’s. She’s the family genealogist, so these tapes belong with her anyway.

I remember one startling moment during a night with Grandma, which I so wish had been recorded. After Grandma went back to The Sands from the hospital, I still stayed with her most nights. She stayed in a hospital bed in her living room, and I took over the couch.

One night, Grandma finally fell asleep for a few minutes. I started to nod off, when suddenly Grandma loudly said, in her sleep, “Isn’t it funny about horses? How they have sex, you know.” She stayed asleep and never uttered another word until she woke up a little later and asked me to get her some of her “cheesies.” Cheetos. Of course, I happily got her a bowl of cheesies. I did not ask her about the dream she had just had. But I really, really, really wanted to.

Mom Is Very Quiet Here With Us Today

Mom likes the color orange. It was a no-brainer to pick the Bow Tie o’ the Day I am wearing to type this post, which covers the time I spent at MCR, aka, the Care Center, with Mom yesterday. I didn’t get to spend enough time with Mom. Never do. Never will. So I dug out this photo of Mom in her mid-teens, and Skitter and I are hanging with her again today, if only in photograph spirit.

I don’t tell Mom when I’m coming to visit. I just arrive in her doorway. I would hate it if I told her when I’d be there, and then something came up to make me unable to show up then. I’m not big on canceling on Mom. Nor should any of us be big on missing appointments with our elders. Anyhoo…

When Skitter and I entered Mom’s pad, Mom had just gotten back from breakfast and was under her covers, prepped for her post-breakfast/pre-lunch nap. Skitter knew a good situation when she saw one. She immediately jumped right up on the bed, curled into Mom’s side, and told me to leave them both alone to doze.

Skitter felt so much more confident and at ease at MCR on her second visit. She did not shake or shiver this time, even when people spoke to her or petted her. Skitter was able to keep it at a low vibrate. Skitter is such a hit with the residents she’s met that there is no way in heck I would dare show my face at MCR without being accompanied by her. We’re a team.

My cousin, Gina Diaz, and her daughter Haylee dropped in to check on Mom while I was there. General nuttiness and storytelling ensued. I don’t know if we three Wright old broads entertained Haylee or if we scared her. We laughed, chuckled, chortled, guffawed, snort-laughed, etc. When we get going, we cause all of the various types of laughter. Gina asked me to model my new cape, which I did. Both sides! And a few minutes after Gina and Haylee left MCR, I called myself a very bad word in my head. I was angry I hadn’t thought to capture Gina and Haylee with me and Mom in a TIE O’ THE DAY photo. Next time.

While at MCR, my Sister Who Wishes To Remain Nameless (SWWTRN), and I and Skitter attended a little meeting with Mom. Apparently, at MCR each resident (and the resident’s family) has a casual, but documented, meeting with those who are ultimately responsible for each aspect of their care: meds, nutrition, counseling, etc. At these gatherings, residents are asked if they have any comments, complaints, issues, suggestions, etc. that need to be addressed in order to improve their care, as well as to improve the total MCR experience itself. (I assume MCR does this with the residents at regular intervals. I need to ask about that.) Mom has no complaints about MCR whatsoever, and she gave only high praise to those in charge of her. She loves the MCR experience.

While we waited in the lobby for Mom’s MCR meeting to begin, she was antsy. She asked, “Did I do something wrong? Was I supposed to fill out a paper?” No, Mom. I and my SWWTRN tried to settle her. I mean, she wasn’t upset, but she wasn’t relaxed about it either. She was a bit apprehensive probably because it was her first meeting. We tried to explain the purpose of the meeting was for her and those in charge of her care to check-in with each other about how things are working. I had to actually say these words to bring Mom down a notch: “Mom, they aren’t going to kick you out.”

When the conference room door opened for us to go into the meeting, a half-dozen or so MCR staff members were waiting for us at a long table. Mom jokingly asked them what she was being called on the carpet for doing. I told Mom she’d be fine if she just acted like she was there to get her Temple Recommend.

The meeting went smashingly. Mom is not kicked out of the Care Center. So far. I did tell her she forgot to complain about all the sexual harassment she has to endure at MCR. She said it was ok she forgot to mention that. She must not mind it. (har, har, har)

I must also report that Skitter enjoyed sitting-in on Mom’s meeting immensely, although she chose not to contribute to the discussion. She’s shy, you know.

FYI The next post will be about the reason I will no longer take lots of photos of Mom, for these posts.

Good Thing I Took ‘Em To Her

Skitter and I and my slim-line Bow Tie o’ the Day had a blast visiting Mom in her MCR bachelorette pad earlier today. One of the first things Mom said to me and The Skit when we arrived was, “I need my sunglasses so I can see.” I handed Mom her usual shades from her table and she was convinced they weren’t her sunglasses, even though they were. She said they didn’t fit right. That was my cue.

Voila! I immediately pulled these bow tie-shaped shades from inside my cape, and Mom grabbed them heartily– as if she’d owned and protected them forever. Honestly, when I bought these sunglasses for her I didn’t know if she would actually like them. I knew I could get a jolly Mom-bow-tie-photo out of it, but I had no idea she would take to them so easily and so much. (The bow tie doesn’t fall far from the tree?) Mom wore them during our entire visit. And one of my MCR spies has already let me know that Mom is still wearing the bow tie spectacles, even as I prepare to post this from my house in Centerville.

I lost count of how many folks at MCR complimented Mom on how snazzy her new sunglasses look. I was especially grateful to Skitter for having had the presence of mind to remind me to put the speshul shades in the car before we headed out to Delta this morning. Saved by the Skitter!

Tomorrow, I’ll post more about our MCR playtime with Mom. I’m too exhausted from the quick roundtrip to do any further thinking.

BTW Skitter’s visit with Mom was just the thing her little doggie-highness needed. She got a part of her Skit-spark back.

A Car Ride To The Country

Here’s Mom from the mid-70’s. Our living room. Dad’s green chair, which had to be reupholstered and re-springed half-a-dozen times because he liked it so well he refused to get a new chair for his old butt. Mom’s reading either The Salt Lake Tribune or The Chronicle. Isn’t her freshly done hair boo-tee-ful? And if I remember correctly, here she’s showing off her new ring and watch, which Dad gave her. (I tacked on Bow Tie o’ the Day. Duh!)

Skitter and I are jumping in the car in about ten minutes to drive a couple of hours to our old Delta stomping grounds to see this regal Queen. We’ll certainly report our findings. I think the trip will perk up Skitter’s current blah’s. And mine. That’s what Mom does, whether she’s trying to or not.

Another Safe Photograph

I thought Bow Tie o’ the Day and I should follow-up this morning’s clean post photo with another super-duper wholesome picture this afternoon, just in case Suzanne is still touchy about the January 5th morning post photo, which she considers to be exposing too many square inches of my pale, pale skin. How scandalous of me!

Here I am, snapped with my Kodak Handle Instant camera, back in the same days of the crazy sleepovers and my mooning. I am showing off my car door. It’s not my car door which belonged to my car. It’s my car door, which I rescued and took home. I found it in the middle of a gravel road in Sugarville. It looked so forlorn laying there all by itself, with its fair share of life’s rust, scratches, and dents. I thought it only right that I should be a Good Samaritan and provide it with shelter and love, so I adopted it. You have to understand: this was during the early-/mid-70’s– the era of pet rocks– so a pet car door didn’t seem all that outlandish to me. Occasionally, I drove it uptown to one of the gas stations, where I would unload it by my car and wash its window, to provide amusement for folks dragging Main. The car door’s window relished getting the squeegee treatment.

My car door lived with me until I went to college, where I couldn’t take it with me. I re-homed it before I left Delta, in 1981. I drove it out West to a farm near where I’d found it, where it could live out its earthly existence running fast and free in the fields of the Lord.

[FYI Skitter is a bit more active today, but not much. She stays zonked-out under her pile of blankets like she’s hibernating. She did decide to accompany me on the walk to the mailboxes late this afternoon. She hasn’t cared to go for a walkie for a few days, so that’s a getting-better sign. Skitter thanks you for the positive vibes you’ve sent her way. We think they’re helping.]

It Finally Happened

I can’t believe it. I guess I did it. And it surprised me. I pushed Suzanne to her limit. Suzanne got upset about a photo I posted here. I didn’t mean to get her out of kilter about anything, but she got that way anyway. It was the photo from the morning of January 5th, when I was wishing Georgia Grayson Wadsworth a merry birthday. Even though I posted it a few days ago, Suzanne didn’t bring it up until yesterday.

If you recall, the pic had been taken at one of the infamous sleeping parties I hosted in the 70’s. It shows Georgia surprising me while I’m on the potty, while someone else takes the picture (and I’m sure it was Tauna). It’s an innocuous photograph, if you ask me. All you can see is my naked thigh. And a little bit of the naked almost-behind my thigh. But Suzanne was not pleased with me so wantonly putting it out in cyber land for all to see.

To me, it was the bathroom wallpaper that was so hideous and offensive about the scene. I almost didn’t post the snapshot because of it.

I told Suzanne posting the picture was really not a bigly deal, since I was a prolific mooner in the Delta environs during those years, so almost all Deltans had seen my butt anyway. She was kinda not amused. “Disturbing” is the word she used.

I’ve got her settled down now. This morning she got ready for work without bringing it up again. I dashed out of the house to get to my physical therapy appointment ASAP. I headed out long before I needed to leave, because I wanted to escape the house before Suzanne even had a chance to bring it up. She has not texted me about the whole hullaballoo, so I’m probably safe now. She’s most likely moved on.

Anyhoo… I figured I should post a completely, absolutely innocent photo– with an equally innocent Bow Tie o’ the Day. Just to be safe. Suzanne cannot quibble with a photograph of Helen, Sr. and baby Helen.

[Hey, check out Mom’s curlers. I think she still has the very same set.]

Two More Crime Scene Photos

I’m surprised these photographs have survived from the 70’s. Besides Utah, I’ve lived in Virginia and Maryland, and then back in Utah. These prize pix have been with me all along the way. They were taken at the same sleepover as the photo from this morning’s post. See. I wasn’t exaggerating about our boisterous clowning. The pix are joined here by Delta Rabbit-y bunny Bow Tie o’ the Day (Trust me, the white critters on the fabric are bunnies.) and DHS colors Bow Tie o the Day.

In the bunny bow tie photo, top row, left to right: Sandra Topham, Terilyn Anderson, Penny Porter. Middle row, left to right: Tammy Harris, Georgia Grayson, me, Janet Eliason. Bottom: Shelly Brown.

In the red-and-white DHS colors bow tie photo, clockwise from the top: Janet Eliason (behind the elbow), Leann Sorenson, Tauna Louder, Tammy Harris (back of head), Sandra Cropper, Karla Meyers, Edie Gross, Terilyn Anderson.

I don’t know about the rest of these chicks, but I got a lot older.

Can’t A Girl Just Pee?

Birthday balloon Bow Tie o’ the Day joins a frou-frou feather Bow Tie o’ the Day to honor the birthday of Georgia Grayson Wadsworth.

One set of Cufflinks o’ the Day represents the sweet slices of birthday cake I’m sure Georgia will scarf down today. The other Cufflinks o’ the Day represent the zillions of tasty food orders Georgia cooked at the Desert Drive-in (I think that was its name) and the Burger Box. I wish I owned a pair of onion ring cufflinks to have included in the picture. To this day, I have never found onion rings as incredibly tasting as the ones Georgia made. I am not stretching the truth. Even as I write this, I can taste them. And they had the exact amount of crunchy consistency. Yum in my head.

In this late-70’s photo, Georgia has interrupted me in my bathroom as I attempt to rid myself of soda pop. (Check out Mom’s superb wallpaper o’ the era. Flowers, anyone?) This took place at one of my infamous sleeping parties, which Dad tolerated with much grace.

I’m pretty sure this was the party when we got high on junk food, then crushed potato chips, in an attempt to smoke them. What wild girls we were!

At this same party, the dozen partygoers and I managed to escape from my house, most of us in only our underwear, whereupon we ran down Lyman Row. We made a ruckus down there, and Bill Cave’s dad came out of his house and chased us down the road and through many back yards. We were convinced he was going to maim us with his hook arm.

Somehow we escaped and made it back to the house– all of us with our bodies intact. Last. Sleepover. At. My. House. Ever. Dad’s grace had run out. Honestly, I don’t know why we would have needed more sleepovers anyway. At the parties we’d had up to that point, we had already done every harmlessly fun thing imaginable.

Flash forward to last summer when I had surgery. The day before I went into Huntsman, a package showed up at my front door. It contained a pair of crocheted slippers, with a bow tie crocheted into the design. It was, of course, from my old pal, Georgia. They were a sign.

I was scared about the surgery, and Suzanne was out of town. I was alone in my scaredy-cat emotions. That slipper-y gift of compassion literally kept me from canceling the operation, which I was so close to doing. Those hand-made, bow tie slippers gave me the push and courage necessary to go through with what I needed to do.

In the middle of one of the nights I was at Huntsman– after my surgery– I was in horrendous pain. I remember actually saying to a nurse, mostly jokingly, “Kill me now!” because the pain was so massive and relentless. As tough as I am, I’d had it. In fact, at some point that night, I thought I was literally going to die. I looked down at the end of the bed, and there were those bow tie slippers on my feet. And I thought to myself, “If I die, I will die with my bow tie slippers on.” I didn’t need boots to die in.

Thanks, Georgia. As I always say, Merry birthday!

My Dad, King O’ All Deer Hunters!

Here’s a photo of a handsome tieless chap, along with The Three Wise-Deer o’ Ties o’ the Day. (Try saying that three times quickly.) Each tie deer has chosen to show its individuality with its own Christmas flair: a bow tie, or a red nose, or a wreath. Yup, that’s my dad as a boy, but he never killed a deer if it was wearing a holiday fashion accent.

Eleven years ago this morning, Ronald Edmond Wright died. He was 77, and he was my Dad. My dad. He wasn’t “Father,” “Daddy,” “Pop,” or “Pa.” He’s “Dad.” In this photo, he’s probably around 12, and he’s standing on his family’s front porch. (Yes, this is THE porch. He grew up in this house, which I eventually bought, and which I sold last year.)

Dad was a beekeeper by trade. He was also a brick mason. He was not a man of many words out in the world, but he was a master joke teller anywhere. The same jokes, over and over. But they were hilarious every time. He could tell compelling stories when he wanted to. Of course, he was a talker with us.

Dad was also a sly and energetic coyote hunter. He hunted every critter you can hunt, but nothing thrilled him as much as hunting coyotes. He woke before dawn, and EVERY morning he rode around the county on his perpetual coyote hunt.

When I was thinking of what to write about Dad in this post, I decided on a couple of incidents that most people probably have never heard about. Dad was quiet about them. Dad was not a braggart. When he told me the stories, I was amazed by his quiet decency and grace. He could make a point someone needed to learn, without exposing them to their friends and family.

[Since the place he lived his life, Delta, is a small town, I will be vague about details, and I will not mention names. In order to protect the guilty.]

Story #1. One night, Dad saw a guy steal a piece of his equipment from the property behind our house. It was a bigly piece of equipment that had to be loaded onto a trailer to be moved. Dad let it happen, to avoid us seeing a confrontation in our yard.

Everybody knows everybody in Delta, so Dad knew the guy. Therefore, Dad knew where his equipment would end up. The next day, when he knew the dude would be where the equipment was, Dad drove out and stole it back right in front of the guy, without saying one word to him. The guy just watched as Dad drove away with his rightful property. The cops weren’t called, but justice was served. The guy felt properly shitty about what he’d done. No need for an arrest. Dad humbled the man, but not in public or in front of his family. The point was made. The incident was put aside. Dad and the guy stayed friends.

Story #2. Dad noticed some of his hay was missing, and it kept going missing. (Poor Dad. Everybody stole from him.) Dad kept a closer eye on the hay bales and soon saw the culprit in action. Again, in a small town you know everybody, so Dad knew the dude. Dad knew the guy had a big family and a crappy job. On the side, the guy used his horses to do some other work, to bring more in money for his family. Because of that, the man needed to keep his horses, even though he couldn’t always afford to feed them. Dad realized why the guy had stolen the hay: need and pride.

Again, Dad didn’t call the cops. Dad didn’t embarrass the guy in front of his family or in public. But Dad wouldn’t let the guy keep stealing hay from him. Ain’t nobody gonna steal from Ron Wright. Nope. So Dad threw a couple of bales of hay in his truck, drove to the guy’s horse corral, and told the guy he thought the guy might need some hay for his horses. Dad said nothing about the stolen hay, got back in his truck, and drove away. And then Dad continued to drop off a bale of hay occasionally at the guy’s corral. Point made. And Dad reformed a thief.

Wise moves, Dad. [More Dad stuff next post.]

HOLIDAY TIE TALLY: 30 Bow ties. 80 Neckties.