Category: Face masks

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#wearthedangmask

I am miffed this afternoon, but in worse words than “miffed.” Suzanne and I had made plans to go visit Mom in her room at Millard Care and Rehab Thursday, and then I got an email from MCR saying that in-person, in-the-flesh visits are once again not allowed. Apparently, the COVID-19 positive rate for Millard County has risen over the CDC guidelines, and there will again be no in-the-flesh visits until the positive rate is below 10% for two Monday’s in a row. I won’t be hugging Mom again for at least two dang weeks from today. Don’t get me wrong: I’m pleased MCR puts its residents first, keeping them as safe as possible. Mom often mentions how safe she feels living there, and her feeling of security is priceless to us. We know they will take care of her. But I don’t have to like it that I can’t be in the same room as my mother—even if it is for her own safety. Just let me be grumpy about it for the rest of the day.😡

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The Taxman Cometh

If you’re a longtime reader of TIE O’ THE DAY, you know what I’m doing today. If I’m wearing my money Bow Tie o’ the Day, it means we’re filing our taxes. You also know that my tax post always contains a few words about how I consider my tax dollars give me the biggest bang for the buck, relative to any other dollar I spend. Yes, I gripe about paying taxes, but it’s an ironic gripe. Due to nothing more than good luck, I was born in the United States of America. I get to live here. The least I can do is pay an annual tithe to my country to help pay my way. 💵 💰🇺🇸😁

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I Got My 2nd Dose

I can now cross my COVID-19 vaccinations off my list. As of this morning, I am fully vaccinated. I wore my wood, lobster claws Bow Tie o’ the Day out to the Davis fairgrounds to get my second shot. Bow Tie got a couple of compliments from the clinic workers, and the guy I handed my documents to through my car window congratulated me on having manual windows in my car. He said he couldn’t remember when he last saw a vehicle with manual windows—and he’s the guy who sees all the cars as they line up. Folks, my Vibe is fourteen years old—and I know that’s a bit old for a car—but it runs perfectly and I still get 36 mpg, and I ain’t getting rid of it until I absolutely have to. The guy acted as if I was driving a classic antique car, with a much-coveted, near-extinct feature: an un-gadget, in an electronic world. I told him he could have a turn rolling the windows up and down if he wanted to, but he was too busy. And then I told him my car is really like those mini clown cars in the circus, from which—when the doors open—a parade of two dozen clowns comes traipsing out from who-knows-where. Hey, it could be true. My car is a magic relic.

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Mom Says, “Be Nice To Each Other.”

Here’s a photo of Mom at my Delta house, about 5 years ago.

I went with a floppy Bow Tie o’ the Day this afternoon, and I donned my “HATE HAS NO HOME HERE” Face Mask o’ the Day for my trip to the store. I was inspired to wear this mask because I keep thinking of my visit with Mom last week. Mom is bigly into kindness and compassion. Mom thinks people should be nice. At large family dinners, Mom took charge and said a few words before the prayer. She always found a way to incorporate the message that we should always be nice to each other and to others. Even with family, being nice is sometimes a difficult way to behave, but it’s still the right thing to do.

As Mom and I were sitting on her bed last week, she brought up kindness yet again. As we were chatting about various kindnesses that had been performed on behalf of our selves, I remembered my new word tattoos—”empathy” and “kindness”—which happened to be covered by my long-sleeved shirt. As I rolled up my shirtsleeves, I said “Mom, I know you don’t like tattoos, but you have to see my new ones. I think you’ll sort of appreciate them.” She said, “I don’t mind your tattoos. You can have whatever you want on you, and people can mind their own business if they don’t like it.” After I rolled up my shirtsleeves, Mom read each of the two words out loud. She was pleased. She even touched the words with her fingertips and told me whoever tattooed me had done a very good job.

Let me be clear: Mom is not a fan of tattoos on anyone, but she is too nice to say so. She’s not about to take a chance of making someone feel ashamed of themselves and their tattoos, just because tats are not her thing. She’s certainly not about to judge someone about something as surface-y as their skin getting inked. In fact, Mom pointed at my “empathy” and “kindness” tats and expressed a familiar sentiment. She said, “We’ll be judged on those words.” I can’t disagree with that.

And on we talked about the niceties of being nice.

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Know Thy Strengths And Weaknesses

I spent most of the afternoon at home, listening to loud music while I worked. That’s why I’m showing you my sheet music Face Mask o’ the Day. I love music, but I have no talent for creating it whatsoever. I took a year or so of piano lessons from Glenna Moody, culminating in my recital performance of a piece called “The Prairie Song.” If I remember correctly, the song sounded a lot like “Book of Mormon Stories,” so I liked it. Unfortunately, despite Glenna Moody’s skillful instruction, none of what I learned from piano lessons stuck. On most of my Delta Elementary report cards, my only bad marks were in music and art. How is it even possible for a kid to do poorly in elementary school music and art? I guess I worked really hard to find a way to fail at something every other kid had no chance of failing. Let’s face it: I was a music spaz. I am meant to sing only when alone in my car or my house, although I have always been an avid listener to most types of music. I was born to hide my musical ineptitude under a bushel for the good of all mankind’s ears, and I was also born to sit in the audience and clap my gratitude for those who have the musical aptitude.

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Ready For A Tuesday

1 chopper-filled Face Mask o’ the Day, plus 1 purple Cravat o’ the Day, plus 1 S’mores 2002 Olympic lapel pin = I’m accessorized properly for a Tuesday of erranding in the bigly city.

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I’m Irish Enough

You are not seeing this post on the wrong day, and I have not gone back in time. I guess I just didn’t get enough of St. Patrick’s Day this year. I think the green is out of my system now.

Hey! I got my CT scan results back from the radiologist today. Unfortunately, it’s written in Doctorese, so I need my surgeon to translate it into Patientese for me. That appointment is set for April, so… I hurry up and wait. But from what I can interpret of the CT’s report, somewhere on some part of what’s left of my pancreas is calcifying. I hate when that happens. It’s not a good finding, but for all I know it’s a minor thing that can be fixed relatively simply. I refuse to get ahead of myself and start worrying about the negative possibilities. Like I’ve said before, worrying is Suzanne’s job. I’ll wait to see what the doctor says.

I remembered something that happened when I was at my Hanky Panky doctor’s last month, where someone was helping me make the appointment for the CT scan appointment I just had. She was holding my file when she wrote something on a Post-It note and stuck it inside the file. I didn’t think too much about her writing a note about me, but while she was on the phone, my eye caught sight of the note. I read the two words: “Fart trash.” I was immediately embarrassed to think that perhaps I had unknowingly passed some gas and everyone but me knew it. How could I not know if I had done that? And it must have been distinctly horrific if this woman felt she had to write a note about it and put it in my medical file. I tried to hide in my chair. I figured I better let her just schedule my scan and get the Heck Tate out of Dodge as quickly as possible.

So the woman’s on the phone, arranging my CT scan and I hear her say to whoever is on the other end of the line, “She needs to be put on the CT fast track list. The fast track.” It took me a second, but then it hit me. The woman had not scribbled “fart trash” in my file, accusing me of creating indoor air pollution. It’s just that her handwriting was so illegible I couldn’t read the two words, “fast track,” correctly. I was elated to know I had caused no olfactory harm to anyone—I merely needed a fast track CT scan, as in ASAP. I was relieved to know I’m not Fart Trash, after all—I’m just the same redneck White Trash I was always meant to be, otherwise inoffensive to the nose.

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A Friday Night On The Town

I don’t think Suzanne and I have been out on a Friday night adventure since the pandemic began, so when the soonest appointment I could get for my CT scan was an evening appointment last Friday, I took it. My CT scan at 8:30 PM was the perfect chance to finally go out on the town. And since it was an evening affair, I chose to treat it as a formal “black tie” soiree. (Note my black sequined Face Mask o’ the Evening.) Unfortunately, we didn’t go to dinner. I had to fast before my scan, and we had to get right back home after the scan because Skitter had been colicky and spitting up all day. Indeed, after I fasted, then drank two bottles of the CT scan goop, then had the CT, my reward when I returned home was to clean up the urp in Skitter’s crate. It was still a Friday night and I was dressed up, so I cleaned up after poor Skitter while still wearing my formal Bow Tie o’ the Day.

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It’s CT Scan Day

Remember way back 3 weeks ago when I had an appointment with my Hanky Panky surgeon to determine why what’s left of my pancreas is misbehaving? My doc arranged for me to have a CT scan ASAP, and the ASAP appointment I could get is scheduled for today @ 8:30 PM. Finally.

Anyhoo…First thing this morning, I drove to the Farmington Health Center to pick up the two bottles of CT contrast I have to drink before my scan. It was early, and although my eyelids might have been open, my brain was still blank—as you can see by my completely blank wood Bow Tie o’ the Day.

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The Very Definition

Bow Tie o’ the Day and I were flipping through Ambrose Bierce’s THE DEVIL’S DICTIONARY, which was first published in 1911. It provides what we might call somewhat silly, irreverent, “real” definitions of words. For example, the word “twice” is defined as “once too often.” Enjoy a few more words and their definitions, according to Bierce:

year: “A period of three hundred and sixty-five disappointments.”

selfish: “Devoid of consideration for the selfishness of others.”

pain: “An uncomfortable frame of mind that may have a physical basis in something that is being done to the body, or may be purely mental, caused by the good fortune of another.”

mythology: “The body of a people’s beliefs concerning its origin, early history, heroes, deities and so forth, as distinguished from the true accounts which it invents later.”

habit: “A shackle for the free.”

fib: “A lie that has not cut its teeth. An habitual liar’s nearest approach to truth.”

admiration: “Our polite recognition of another’s resemblance to ourselves.”

acquaintance: “A person whom we know well enough to borrow from, but not well enough to lend to.”