When I woke up this morning, I fully intended to throw Skitter in the car and drive to Delta to see Mom. I put Skitter’s diaper bag in the car, then waited for Suzanne to get off safely to work, at which time I would head for the west desert. I waited and waited, but Suzanne didn’t come downstairs at her usual time. I figured she knew what she was doing, schedule-wise. About 30 minutes past when she was supposed to actually be at work, I finally went upstairs to see if she was okay. She must have slept through her alarm, because she was still sleeping. I woke her up to verify she wasn’t dead or comatose, and then I told her how late she was. She was up in a flash, and out the door in another flash. If I hadn’t been home, she’d still be in bed snoozing this afternoon. This is why I like to wait for her to leave before I do.
Meanwhile, I had noticed that I kept nodding off from the moment I got out of bed. I didn’t feel tired, then all off a sudden, my eyelids would close and my head would fall back against the couch—and ZIP, I was wide awake again, until the next time I dozed. I can take a hint. I made the bigly, unilateral decision that taking a long drive was probably not the smartest plan today. If you drive on Utah freeways frequently, or at all, you have likely come to the conclusion that many drivers surely seem to be driving in their sleep. It might work for them, but I ain’t up for driving like that. Nodding off is not how I roll—especially with a Skitter on board.
BTW Yes, I am! I am wearing the same Bow Tie o’ the Day I wore yesterday, just because I can.
This is my fave-rave photograph of me with Mom. I must have had a sore throat or stuffy nose, because that’s a Vick’s rag around my neck. It was my Vick’s Rag o’ the Day—precursor to my penchant for all kinds of Neckwear o’ the Day. I so love my mother.
Mom has always been a superb napper when she’s had time to do nothing for a few minutes. Here she is at our house in 2014, napping with Roxy and Skitter. If I remember correctly, she had been binge-watching BLUE BLOODS that whole day, and we all know how exhausting that sort of thing can be. When filing photographs, I’ve noticed that I have a bunch of pix of Mom in full nap mode. When Mom visited us in Delta or here in Centerville, it was somehow a huge happiness for me to see her sleep as I puttered around the house. I’m sad our sleepovers are in the past now.
Here’s a photo of Mom eating a sandwich while sitting on her sofa, back in August of 2017—weeks after breaking her hip. Mom has always been a good sport about donning the neckwear I hand her for what she calls “our tie pictures.” This lavender Bow Tie o’ the Day was privileged to spend some time with her that day. You’re probably saying to yourself, “Why the gosh are you showing us a snapshot of your mother with her eyes closed?” Go ahead—ask Mom, and she’ll be the first one to tell you that one of her claims to fame is that she has somehow managed to unwittingly close her eyes in most of the photos taken of her throughout the 90 years of her life. Actually seeing Mom’s gorgeous, ice-blue eyes in a photo is, indeed, a rare thing.
Mom has always had a talent for finding just the right card for any occasion. She shopped for cards like they were fine wines. She had a stockpile of hand-picked cards for every possible future event, which she kept in her “card drawer” in her dresser. With this in mind, you can see why giving Mom a card for any occasion has always been a challenge. My goal has always been to give Mom a card she hasn’t seen already, or one she hasn’t already bought and hidden away for her own purposes. I think I have successfully met the challenge this year. This is the Mother’s Day card I’m sending to her. It will hit her funny bone. And, as an added bonus, its message is true.
Tie o’ the Day screams to show y’all the Delta house we had for 17 years. Mom and her Pepsi are with us in this collage snapshot. Suzanne’s holding Skitter. I’m being the tie/bow tie missionary I truly am. And Bernie Sanders stopped by to chat.
Suzanne and I called our Delta house Southfork (as in the tv show DALLAS), and we called it the Desert Beach House. I think of it most fondly as my grandparents’ former house. When I owned it, I thought of it as my own private tumbleweed ranch. I had a serious green thumb for growing all shapes, sizes, and styles of tumbleweeds. The best part about this house is that it was just an easement away from my parents’ home, which came in especially handy after Dad passed away. When we were in Delta, we could keep a protective eye on Mom, without cramping her gallivanting style. Rowan and I spent the bulk of his childhood summers in this house, while Suzanne stayed in Ogden and slaved at the office. She grabbed chunks of time to spend in Delta whenever she could get away from work. Rowan got the benefit of growing up by my parents and surrounded by my grandnieces and grandnephews. Our summer porch was always full of Mom, and kids, and bubbles, and root beer floats. Oh, and the porch was home to buckets of sidewalk chalk for creating miles of kid art to behold. I am proud to say that no self-respecting kid ever walked off our porch clean. 🏖
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.😡
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.
So yesterday morning, before Skitter and I got in the car to make our pilgrimage to Millard Care And Rehab to visit Mom, Suzanne told me she liked my shirt but she said it kinda hurt her eyes, too. I considered changing into a less busy shirt, because I didn’t want my attire to cause injury to Mom’s old, old eyes. Ultimately, I didn’t change it, and one of the first things Mom said to me when she saw me was, “I like your shirt.” I told her what Suzanne had said about it earlier, and Mom said, “Well, if it bothers my eyes to look at your shirt, I’ll just quit looking at it.” Mom is a very sensible gal.
As Skitter and I made our way through the halls of MCR to get to Mom’s room, the staff was quick to welcome us back to the facility. And I was quick to give them our family’s thanks for their quality care of Mom during the pandemic. They kept her safe and engaged, and we never doubted they would. Indeed, when I walked into Mom’s room, she was alert and chatty. When I first hugged her, she seemed smaller and more fragile than when I hugged her last. It was like hugging a bird—but I’m sure that was mostly because it had been so long between hugs.
The window in Mom’s room gives her a clear view of people going into, or out of, the care center. She can also see the ambulance pull up to the ER at the hospital across the way. She especially enjoys watching the medical helicopter come and go. Mom and I sat on Mom’s bed talking and watching the world doing its thing outside her window. Mom was captivated by the construction guys working on the hospital roof. We laughed as they took turns coming down the ladder to use the port-a-potty in the parking lot. For a moment, it felt like she and I were sitting on The Porch again—Mom holding court and scattering her spunkiness and opinions everywhere within ear-reach.
As an added bonus for Mom yesterday, her friends, Dot and Roberta, drove past her window, as if on cue, and I managed to flag them down. They were gracious enough to stop and come over to Mom’s window so she could see them up-close. The three of them yelled greetings to each other through the window glass. (Oh, and Mom made me lift Skitter up to the window, so she could introduce The Skit to her good friends.) Dot and Roberta were cackling when they left, and so were we. Mom beamed at her almost-back-to-normal day as a resident of MCR. She can’t wait to go on MCR drives again, and she mentioned wanting to get back to playing BINGO with the other residents, too. I reminded her she will probably have to be patient a little longer, and she reminded me how much neither of us Helen’s likes to be patient.
My fave-rave moment of yesterday was a classic, comedic Mom moment. I nursed my bottle of Diet Coke and Mom had Pepsi in her cup as she and I chatted. Yup, we were drinkin’ together again. At some point, Skitter—who sat right up against Mom’s leg throughout the entirety of our visit—started sniffing at Mom’s cup. Quick-witted as ever, Mom feigned horror and said, “Skitter! You don’t want to drink that! That’ll get you drunk!” It caught me by surprise, and I admit I snort-laughed at Mom and the idea that she would spike anyone’s drink—let alone her own. I asked her what the Hell-en she spiked her Pepsi with, and where did she hide it, because I wanted some too. We kidded back and forth about that for a while, and at some point I said she should tell me where her booze was so we could get Skitter drunk, and put it on YouTube and get rich. I told her she was being stingy, and that I didn’t know how she was raised, but that my mother sure as Hell-en raised me to always share my liquor with the people I love.
What a bigly splendid day it was, in Mom’s little room! I can’t wait for our next visit.
