Witty & Wise Ties, Trivia & Lies
I thought maybe I should shop for a new outfit to wear to visit Mom on her birthday this weekend. My first high-style shopping started exactly where it always does: I consulted with VOGUE magazine. That’s where I discovered this toasty number. You’ll note that the sweater’s neck is so high that I won’t even need to wear a separate Face Mask o’ the Day. When she sees me wearing this, Mom will be surprised only by the fact I’m wearing heels. ðŸ‘
Nope. Mom never goes anywhere without a housecoat. She still has one hanging here in our front closet, as is probably the case at BT/Mercedes’ and Ron’s homes, too. Her nightgown and housecoat will be here—hanging right where they’ve hung for the last decade—for Mom in case she’s ever able to visit for a sleepover again. She is always welcome here, even though Millard Care and Rehab is the place she needs to be.
In Mom’s nearly 91 years, she has been a part of a slew of amazing stories, which she has never tired of telling us kids about. I’ve been thinking I should share some of the more obscure knee-slappers with you. I was going to start with the tale of what happened one night with Mom, her sister, Rosalie, and Rosalie’s husband, Boyd. But, upon further thought, I’m probably not allowed to tell that one, no matter how amusing it was. So then I decided to tell you the one about the camper Dad built and about the many members of the Delta 2nd Ward who borrowed it. But I’m forbidden from telling you that story, too. So then I decided to tell you the story of how Mom bought a dark, long-haired wig in Provo, just to freak out Dad. But, again, I can’t tell that tale to y’all either, now that I think of it. Nor can I tell you the story of Mom and Dad and the bee yard with an electric fence. That story is not for those readers who are faint of heart or could expire due to excessive laughter—because TIE O’ THE DAY doesn’t carry life insurance for its readers.
I will try to think of some of Mom’s tamer true tales.
Last September, when Mom turned 90, Millard Care and Rehab was on pandemic lockdown, so we celebrated from outside her window. It was not the grand party she deserved, but I think she got the idea that we adore her and are grateful to call her ours. She also got a bazillion birthday cards from family, friends, and a few TIE O’ THE DAY readers she has never met. I thank y’all for that. Well, it’s that time o’ year again—and it’s that pandemic again. The latest news I’ve heard is that the care center is off-limits to visitors, as of a few days ago, because a resident has tested positive for COVID-19. I’m hoping that somehow we’ll be able to see and hug Mom—not just through a window—for her 91st birthday, on September 26. But just in case we’re not allowed in, I’m putting her birthday card and present in the mail. Likewise, if you’d like to send Mom a birthday greeting this week, you know she’d love it. Here’s her address: Helen A. Wright, Millard Care and Rehab, Room #104, Delta, UT 84624
[My brother, Ron, has called me Queenie for as long as either of us can remember, but we all know Mom is the true Queen of All Kindness and Potato Salad. When this post showed up as a memory on my feed this morning, I simply had to post it for y’all once again. Ain’t Mom royally regal?!]
I love running across pix of Mom. Here she is, sometime around four years ago, visiting me in my former Delta abode. When I was in town, Mom wandered over to hang with me two or three times a day. Usually, Mom held court on my porch, where we solved the problems of the world. We were laughing so hard about something one summer day on the porch that Mrs. Rowlette—who just happened to be driving by—pulled into my driveway and asked what was so funny. We invited her onto the sacred porch, where she laughed with us for the next hour. Mrs. Rowlette was not the first, nor was she the last, to find out what happened on the porch, stayed on the porch.
When the weather and temperature didn’t cooperate, this bigly chair by the bigly picture window at my place was Mom’s throne. Mom’s style needs no neckwear, although I’d give her the bowtie off my neck if she wanted it. And you can see where I got my basic fashion sensibilities, right?
I donned a blue-polka-dotted orange Bow Tie o’ the Day and Skitter was wearing her avocados Tie o’ the Day (which you can’t see cuz it’s covered by her blankets in this photo), and we headed to Delta to see Mom last Friday. Suzanne managed to get the day off work, so she drove us to our destination.
When we got to the care center, folks were getting on the center’s little bus for a short outing. I could see Mom was already in the front seat, ready to see the sights. She had no idea we were there. I could have caught the group before they headed out, but since the pandemic began, the Millard Care and Rehab residents haven’t ventured out until recently. I did not want to keep Mom from a drive with her current neighbors, so Suzanne and I said to each other at the very same time, in almost the same exact words, “While we’re waiting for Mom to come back from her ride, we should go to Mom’s Crafts!” Mom’s Crafts is Suzanne’s idea of Heaven. Because Suzanne always spends a lot of $$$ there, Mom’s Crafts is also my idea of a depleted bank account.😜 So Suzanne bought a ton o’ fabric, and we both got to say “howdy” to Kyla. Mom’s Crafts is always a good time. Even Skitter was grooving about it. Skitter told me she wants Suzanne to teach her to sew, so she can shop for her own fabric at Mom’s Crafts and make her own doggie blankets. It’s gonna be a long and interesting winter, I can tell.
When we returned to the care center, the bus was already there, and Mom was already inside the building sitting with a pal at her table in the facility’s new fancy dining room. What a great space! I didn’t see Mom’s face as we were walking in her direction, cuz I was wrangling Skitter across the room and through the other residents, but Suzanne said Mom’s whole face beamed when she saw me. I was wearing my mask, and Mom had no idea I have shaved my head to the nubs, but she still managed to recognize me. I am always glad for that. It is something so basic, but it has become incredibly important to me now. I need Mom to know me. (So far, it was only that one instance when she didn’t recognize my voice on the phone.)
In Mom’s room, Skitter jumped up on her bed and curled right into Mom like she always does. Mom absentmindedly stroked Skitter throughout our visit, as is her usual way. Mom was in high spirits, as she always seems to be. She says she’s sleeping well—”like a log”— and she’s snoring well. This is true. She says she is in no pain. This used to be true until quite recently. But it’s not true anymore, and she will not admit it. She maintains her playfulness and penchant for humor. But she is also quieter than I have ever known her to be. We left her a stash of peanut butter Snickers and candy corn pumpkins. Mom is beyond pleased when we pretend on occasion that she doesn’t have to watch her sugar. 😉 We can’t wait for our next visit with her.
TIE O’ THE DAY is pleased to be able to share this photo of Mom. I had never seen it until Tom Lovell aimed it my way. Of course, I immediately knew I had to share it with y’all—however tieless it is. Mom’s style has always been a casual one.
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.
I have stacks and files and reams of paper everywhere in my house. Paper finds me: It’s a law of nature, as sure as gravity. I’m currently—and always—trying to get rid of what papers I don’t really need, and today I was going through a file of papers from one of my Delta boxes. I came upon this specimen and initially wondered why I saved this messed up envelope. But then I remembered. I decided I had to post it for y’all, even though there’s no neckwear in sight.
I found this envelope sitting on Mom’s kitchen table one day about five years ago. It’s not an important document, in the traditional sense. It’s important to me because Mom wrote the message, while simultaneously talking to Kathi on the phone and mixing a batch of cookies. She wrote the note-to-self on the first paper thing she found handy, to remind her to pick up one of her great-grandkids the next day. It is so Mom-esque, with its hurried handwriting and the little blobs and smears of what is, no doubt, chocolate chip cookie dough from her busy-baking hands. This item is a scratch ‘n’ sniff treasure to me. It’s not going anywhere.
I hadn’t planned to write a post this morning because I didn’t think I would have time. You see, I had a virtual therapy appointment scheduled with my “crazy head” doctor, so I planned nothing for an early TIE O’ THE DAY. I donned a nuts-and-bolts-and-screws Bow Tie o’ the Day to symbolically scream to my doc that I have many screws loose, for which I must be treated. But when it got close to my scheduled appointment time, I got a text from my doctor asking if we could switch my appointment to 3:00 PM this afternoon.
Now, you know what time 3:00 PM on weekdays really is to me, right? It’s Judge Judy o’ clock! My world stops at Judy o’ clock. Skitter knows not to need anything at that time of day. I won’t answer the door or the phone. From 3-4 PM, I exist only in theory—not in the flesh. Judge Judy is my daily respite from mundane household tasks, the pessimism of the world, and the conspiracy theories of those who believe in something only if it’s a conspiracy theory.
So, where was I at Judy o’ clock today? In a Zoom therapy session with my “crazy head” doctor. I didn’t say “yes” to switching the appointment time because I’m in any kind of dire bipolar pothole and must be seen ASAP. I agreed to switch times for one simple fact: My parents taught me to help make things easier on folks, even in small ways. If switching the time of my appointment helps my doctor’s day work better—and it doesn’t do me any damage—I have an obligation to do it, whether I’m gleeful about it or not. And, believe me, I was not gleeful about it. But I can adapt. I can make concessions. I can get along. Judge Judy would be so proud of me.
Somehow, Suzanne managed to wrangle a day off yesterday, so we drove to Delta-bama to visit our hero—Big Helen. Skitter was a sly mutt, cuz she gave Mom a bigly bag of candy, totally ignoring Mom’s glucose levels. Every time I looked in their direction, Skitter was handing Mom another Swedish Fish. I knew we would be in trouble the next time the nurses checked Mom’s sugar. And we were. The nurse told Mom there was an insulin shot coming her way. As we were leaving Millard Care and Rehab, we walked Mom to her lunch table—trying to hide her from any syringe-wielding nurses. But the staff at MCR doesn’t miss a thing. The nurse accosted Mom with a shot in the hall. All’s right with Mom’s blood sugar again. Hey, Mom’s 90. If she wants Swedish Fish, she’s getting Swedish Fish. Besides, it was Skitter who gave her the bag of candy anyway, so you can’t blame me.
BTW Here’s a factoid about Mom: Whenever a nurse prepares to test Mom’s blood, Mom ALWAYS gives them her middle finger to prick. It amuses the nurses, and it amuses Mom to sort of flip the bird at her situation. Everyone wins. I love Mom.