Category: Family

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This Photo Was Taken On Mom’s First Day At MCR

After Mom broke her hip in June of 2017, she could no longer live in her own home in Delta, so she moved to St. George with my brother, Ron, and his beautiful wife, Marie, for the next year. We brought Mom “up north” with us when we could, and she’d spend part of her “up north” time with my oldest sister in Pleasant View. We kids traded Mom back and forth like she was a fragile, prize baseball card we were trying to share with each other. (“It’s my turn to have her!”) But Mom was not done with her beloved Delta, and when a residence space opened up for her at Millard Care and Rehab in October of 2018, we were pleased and sad at the same time. Mom would be in a safe and happenin’ place for the final chapter of her long life, but she wouldn’t be having sleepover camp with her kids and grandkids anymore.

Ron and Marie were out of town being grandparents for a week when the MCR space opened up, so Suzanne and I were down at their house doing our Momsitting when we got word Mom needed to be checked in at MCR almost immediately. Suzanne and I helped Mom go through her St. George bedroom to make decisions about what she could move with her to her new digs. To say the whole process was tearful is to underplay the upheaval Mom was feeling. She knew it was time for her to make the move, but it was a huge and probably final move, nonetheless. We had all cared for her until she needed more care than we could safely provide.

That October morning we were packing up Suzanne’s SUV to move Mom from St. George to Millard Care and Rehab, I had to wake Mom up. She had a check-in time in Delta, and we needed to get on the road. As I woke her, I sat on the edge of her bed and explained, step-by-step, what we were doing that day. She said in all seriousness, “Well, I’m not going. I was quite restless in the night. I finally decided I’m not going to the care center, and then I fell asleep. I slept like a log.” I don’t know exactly what I said after that, but we talked and cried and talked some more. She got up and started to gather things together, but she had to choose which of her home-made porcelain dolls to take with her. She could not have them all in her new room. I told her we could trade them out occasionally, so she’d have them all—but only one at a time. Mom’s tears were fierce. I eventually went and got Suzanne, who was packing up the car, and said, “I need you to do one task right now. Help Mom choose a doll. We have to leave.” Suzanne was somehow successful. We eventually ended up in the car with Mom’s belongings, including one bigly doll. Skitter was in the backseat, by Mom’s side, from St. George to Delta. Mom petted Skitter the entire way. Again, we talked and cried and talked and cried, across all the miles of our journey. Gee, I’ve gone through some rough things, but this was the worst day of my life.

By the time Suzanne and I left Mom in her room at MCR later that day and headed back to Centerville, Mom was still a bit flustered. The saving grace was that she knew almost everybody in the place—residents and staff. Every one of them made a fuss over her arrival. She was already the Queen Bee of the prom. It wasn’t her home, but everybody was familiar.

I learned one thing that day we drove Mom to what will likely be her last earthly home. (Honestly, I already knew the thing. But, like any human being, I’m stubborn, so I had to re-learn it that day.) And the thing I learned is this: The right thing to do for someone you love is sometimes the most difficult thing you could possibly ever think to do. But you have to do it. Because you love them. And it’s what they need.

Damn it.

That’s why I was wearing my broken/bandaged hearts Tie o’ the Day. I knew it would be appropriate for our mission.

FYI I drove to Delta to visit Mom three days after we moved her to MCR, to make sure she was doing okay. She was already absolutely jubilant to be there. So many family members and friends were stopping by to welcome her, I only stayed with her two hours. Heck, I was in the way, and I had never been so happy to be in the way. I decided Mom’s best trick is to carry her contentment with her wherever she goes. We’d all feel better if we would do that.

Another FYI You can see Mom had already temporarily “lost” her sunglasses and her tooth on moving day, but you can also see she had her all-important clip-on earrings on her elderly earlobes. No matter how old one is, one must always wear something with a touch of class.

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Skitter v. The Wascally Winds O’ Centerville

TIE O’ THE DAY brings you a selection of pix of Mom and Skitter during some of our visits with Mom at MCR. Mom has always been kind to all of God’s creatures—except ants, flies, mosquitoes, and mice, of course. Even so, Mom has never been a petter of anybody’s pets. But for some reason, Skitter and Mom hit it off, from the get-go. I’m sure it has a lot to do with Skitter being abused prior to her life with us. Mom’s got a whole diatribe she goes into about people who abuse animals, which usually ends with, “They oughta be shot.” Hey, you’ll get no argument to the contrary from me.

Anyhoo… Last week’s devastating winds here in Centerville were a thing to behold. The tree carnage was incalculable in Davis County. The damage to homes and cars was hit-and-miss, but homes and cars that did get hit, got hit bigly. Thankfully, our home was mostly missed. Skitter was the real victim of the winds, as far as our people and things are concerned. How do you explain the sound and feel of torrential wind to a mutt who is already chronically skittish from her previous abusive life? The power was out, so there was no cranking up music or the television to cover the sound of the storm. You have to understand that our tv is always on. When Suzanne and I are out of the house, we leave the television on for Skitter so she knows we’ll come. back home. Skitter is not stoopid. She knows if the television is on, I will definitely be back. When we go out of town and Suzanne’s sister stays here with Skitter, she knows the television is to remain on if she has to leave the house. It’s the law!

Anyhoo, again… With winds gusting into hurricane range, Skitter still had to go potty. Winds can’t prevent that need. I guiltily had to push her out the patio door. Out she went, into the bluster. She stared at me with eyes that said, “What did I do wrong?” I had to turn away. When I turned back to her, she was dutifully pottying—claws clutching the grass to keep her from being blown away in the awful wind. But I noticed something that made me feel relieved. Skitter’s pee was falling almost straight down into the ground. I immediately thought, “Skitter’s got this!” I knew for a fact Skitter had braved stronger winds in her life. We had spent tons of time at our tumbleweed ranch in Delta, where the wind comes sweepin’ down the plain. I had seen Skitter’s pee fly sideways in the winds o’ Millard County at least a half-dozen times, and it was dropping straight down in the once-in-a-hunnerd-years storm in Centerville. After all was said and done, and despite its wrath, last week’s storm o’ wild winds was just a hullaballoo of wimpy city wind trying to blow with the bigly winds o’ Delta, Utah!

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Git Out Yer Recipe Cards Again

[Yesterday, I re-posted a photo of Mom slicing her cheese bread. I told about the importance of cheese bread at our family holiday meals. Today, here’s a second re-post of the recipe.]

Five red Bow Ties o’ the Day are proud to provide a recipe we think you’ll find tasty. It’s cheesy and bready. Who could find fault with that?

Actually, I really can’t call this a “recipe.” Mom’s recipes ranged from easy-peasy to intricate and near-impossible. This is a simple one. Three ingredients are all you need. You’ll also need an oven.

1 loaf of French bread. 1 stick or 1/2 stick of butter. And one jar of Kraft Old English Spread.

Lay a sheet of foil across a cookie sheet. You do not want to have to clean baked-on cheese off your cookie sheet. Use the foil.

Hand-mix the cheese spread and butter together until it’s creamy. Mom generally uses the whole stick of butter, although I’ve seen her use just half a stick. I always use just the half.

With a bread knife, skin ALL the crust off the French bread. Ditch the crust.

Cover the bottom of the skinned loaf with the cheese/butter spread, then place it on the foil-covered cookie sheet. Continue to cover the sides and top of the loaf with the cheese/butter spread. Spread the spread as evenly as you can. Since the size of French bread loaves vary, you might or might not use the entire amount of spread. Plus, you’ll definitely want to experiment with how thick you like your cheese spread layer to be. If you want a thin layer of the cheese/butter mixture on the entire loaf, you’ll probably have enough to cover two loaves.

Bake for 10-ish minutes, at 350 degrees. Ovens vary, you know. Experiment with how crusty—if at all—you like the top of your cheese bread to be. The more you experiment with the variables, the more cheese bread you’ll “have to” eat.🤤

I recommend you slice the cheese bread (an electric knife works best) while it’s still hot. And put it on the table hot. But it’s still yummy when it has cooled off.

As any good cook knows, even with an easy recipe the taste is in the details. Mom’s excellent cooking was the result of tweaking good recipes to make them better, as well as her knack for timing. Still, she cooked primarily by sight, smell, and taste. Measuring ingredients wasn’t much of a concern to her. She guesstimated a lot. That’s what makes it difficult to pin down her actual recipes.

If someone wanted a recipe, she’d give them one. She’d also invite them to come to the house to watch her make what they were asking about. Her complicated candy-type creations are especially almost impossible to re-create, even if you watched her make it and tried to write everything down. She was always changing the way she did it or adding a new twist or a different ingredient. And, of course, exact measurements were not always Mom’s way.

Oh. About the potato chips and Diet Coke in the photo. Those food staples are for you to snack on while you make the cheese bread. Substitute a bottle of wine for the Diet Coke, if you are so inclined. Chocolate is also allowed.

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Lots O’ Cheese

[The Skitter v. Wind post will have to wait until tomorrow. Here’s a repeat of a Mom post from a couple of years back. The soon-to-be Birthday Dame could cook up a storm.]

Entwined hearts Bow Tie o’ the Day is perfect for Mom. I have been told she’s having an extremely tough time missing Dad recently. Even though he’s gone, their love lives. It’s a time-space continuum thing.

This photo was taken almost 20 years ago. I think Mom is in the kitchen at the Palomar. Most likely, this was a Thanksgiving bash. Check out Mom’s attack face. She is darn well gonna conquer those two loaves of cheesebread. And note the oven burns on the back of Mom’s hand. You’ve heard of rug burn. Well, this is cheesebread burn. She burned her hands on the oven coils every time she made cheesebread. Every time, I tell you. Mom never met an oven glove she’d use.

In our house, the electric knife was used for cutting only two things: carving turkey and slicing cheesebread. It was basically used only on Thanksgiving and Christmas. And then the gadget was put back in its little 70’s original box, and into the kitchen cupboard where Mom and Dad kept the checkbook. The knife la in its skinny box all alone for 363 days a year. Poor thing. I should have put a bow tie in with it for company.

Mom’s cheesebread is a sacred food. Many of you have had the privilege of tasting Mom’s confections over the years, and you know she was an excellent all-around cook. But Mom’s cheesebread was something she made almost exclusively for family holiday dinners. It was a rare gem. And it was the key food item of those dinners. Dinner did not happen without the cheesebread. Kinds of salads changed. Different versions of potatoes joined the basic mashed potatoes. You’d think the turkey would be the star, but it was always about the cheesebread.

And it was war. The most desired slices of cheesebread are the ends, where the cheese-to-bread ratio is the highest. If you managed to score one of the ends, it was only because you managed to steal one before someone else stole it.

At some point after dinner, there was what I’ll refer to as The Semi-Annual Battle Over the Tinfoil On Which the Cheesebread Was Baked. The tinfoil was like the cherry on top. It was like the prize in the cereal box. It was covered in baked-on, cheesebread drippings. Dad usually won that war. And then he would sit at the head of the table, picking carmelized blobs of cheese off the tinfoil– obnoxiously, so we couldn’t help but watch it happen. And we drooled through the torture of witnessing the results of our defeat.

I have made this cheesebread for parties and dinners and potlucks in three states in this U.S. of A., and I can attest to its lusciousness. A couple of enemies became my friends because of this cheesebread. Its powers know no bounds. Hell, Mom’s cheesebread could probably find a way to balance the federal budget AND create world peace.

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Mom’s Hair Rocked The Early 70’s

As I have been mentioning often this month, Mom will turn 90 on the 26th. Mom has always been one to enjoy bigly parties with lots of family and friends hanging around, eating tasty food and laughing too loudly. Due to COVID-19, our family is unable to put on the kind of festive birthday event Mom so properly deserves. If I had my way, I’d put a bejeweled tiara on her head and drive her around Millard County on a parade float for her birthday, so her fans could wave at her.

Anyhoo… TIE O’ THE DAY has a job for y’all, in regard to Mom’s upcoming party-less birthday. It’s a simple job. If you know and love Mom (or even if you don’t), send Helen Sr. a birthday note or card or candy or a pony. Don’t wait for her birthday. Do it now. Let’s try to keep the cards rolling in to Mom for a couple of weeks. For those of you who live in Delta, drop by MCR and knock on Mom’s window.

Here’s Mom’s address: Helen A. Wright, Millard Care And Rehab, Room #104, 150 White Sage Ave., Delta, UT 84624

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Mom Mugs For Dad

I forgive Mom for wearing no Tie o’ the Day in this photo. In fact, she gets a complete pass on any missing neckwear until she turns 90 on September 26.

As far as I’ve been able to calculate, Dad took this snapshot of Mom some time in 1948, a few months before they got married. The location is somewhere on the Utah west desert—probably close to Baker, NV. They were both 17, and they were ga-ga for each other. Mom says they still are. I have no doubt. Smitten, the both of them.

After Dad died in 2007, Mom received a sympathy card from “one of the Lyman girls” (I’ve temporarily forgotten which one.) who grew up in the house directly across the street from our home. She wrote that watching Mom and Dad as she was growing up was like watching a love story unfold. “The Lyman girl” wrote that once—when she was well past middle age herself, and Mom and Dad were old and gray—she had been at Top’s Cafe in Delta, where Dad sat at the counter chatting with his coffee buddies. When Mom happened to walk in with her gang for lunch, Dad’s blue eyes immediately lit up. It looked to “the Lyman girl” like all Dad could see at Top’s was Mom. I saw that very look between them more times than I can count. It was the tenor of their way with each other.

I was lucky and blessed to grow up in a house with parents who were so clearly and openly in love. So many of my childhood friends weren’t raised amidst the security that comes from watching their parents take good and constant care of each other. From my vantage point, even in their rare bickering, Mom and Dad never said or did things that diminished each other’s dignity. Their respect for each other always ruled the day.

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Mom And Her Walker, On Her Way To 90

Mom has used a walker since she broke her hip in June of 2017. Here is a photo of her zipping around our house aided by her walker on one of her 2018 visits with us, a few months before she took up residence at Millard Care and Rehab. A broken hip didn’t slow Mom down much. On her post-broken hip visits with us, she took brisk daily walks through the house to keep her new hip loosened up. I asked her what she was needing to stay loose for at her age, and she wasn’t sure. But she thought it would be wise to keep her new hip loose “just in case.” Mom’s such a Boy Scout with her preparedness for whatever might lurk anywhere in her vicinity.

Note Mom is once again wearing her clip-on earrings. Also note her ever-present sunglasses. She’s as famous and beloved as a movie star. I really have seen her mobbed by her fans when they happen upon her. I’m sure Mom uses the shades as a disguise to help her lay low, to protect her privacy and her cool-osity. (Oh, and light hurts her old dame eyes.) I am, as always, in awe of Mom’s charisma.

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Countdown To Mom’s 90th Birthday

Mom is a character. She has also been a positive example of so many of the values we try to live by as good folks upon the planet. She is a woman of action. She is compassionate, non-judgmental, resilient, loyal, generous, service-minded, patient, empathetic, principled, and on and on, into et cetera territory. I consider her life-long examples of these values to be a quiver-full of gifts to me—each one important to finding my way through my life. She’s been a stellar example of her values to anyone who has spent time with her.

One value I realize Mom taught me was a surprise. And it’s a bigly thing. I don’t know how I missed it for so many years, but I did not recognize it as a gift until I became a parent myself. And just what is that valuable gift my Mom gave me? She gave me the gift of imperfection. Some parents have a tough time letting their kids—and everyone else— see them make mistakes. They can’t admit to being/doing wrong. Mom has always openly embraced her mis-steps and weaknesses, and she has tried to learn from them and become a better person. She’s never been shy about sharing her mistakes with others, so they can benefit from her experiences. She gave me the gift of acknowledging my imperfection—as we all must do—as a necessary way to thrive and be better than I was before I messed up. And Mom has taught me that it’s not enough to learn from your imperfection; you are obligated to show others how to best live contentedly with their own inevitable foibles. Nobody’s perfect, but we often waste a ton of energy and time pretending to be. Here’s a secret: None of us is fooling anybody. Might as well learn from who we really are.