Witty & Wise Ties, Trivia & Lies
My face—behind my face mask—when I saw this Tie/Bow Tie o’ the Day Sharpie in the store yesterday. Must. Buy. Them. All.
FYI The face you see in the photo was performed by the always gleeful Gracie, and was caused by Bishop Travis’ proud-father choreography. I assume Bishopette Collette was in charge of snapping shots.
Suzanne and I spent the late 80’s and the whole 90’s many states away from each other, taking a time-out. Suffice it to say, the split was all my fault. But the longer we were apart, the clearer it became to both of us that we were meant to be together.
That time apart also brought kids into our separate lives. Suzanne had Rowan late in our time-out, but I had walked immediately into a life with a two-year-old named Devon (and his bio mom). For the next dozen years, I was Devon’s MomHelen. For most of those years I was his primary parent, because my graduate school and teaching schedules were flexible. I loved that boy, and the three of us had a mostly successful run as a family unit.
But I was falling apart. I had been running from the fact that I was bipolar, so I wasn’t getting help in that regard. My job teaching middle school in Baltimore had left me literally bruised almost daily, and bloody all too often—resulting in me developing an unpleasant case of PTSD which kept me from sleeping for years. I was beginning to over-like my beer too.
I was an outward success, but I was a mess at taking care of me. My collapse was coming. When Devon was 15, I had a bigly decision to make, and it would be the most difficult decision of my entire life. What could I do to be the parent he needed me to be, before I completely imploded? The answer was easy to figure out. The answer was also nearly impossible for me to actually do. I had to go. I had to leave him in his mother’s capable hands. He didn’t need me crashing into smithereens in the house, or even anywhere in the same zip code.
Such a tough thing. The beginning of reclaiming my sanity required me to walk away from everything I had and everything I was. I had to let go of ego and pride, and simply do the right thing for Devon. The best parenting move I could make for Devon at that time was to leave him in a situation that improved the second my bipolarity and I walked out of it. I did the right, hard thing for him, and It broke my heart.
I left Maryland and came back to Utah in 2000, where the endless sky helped heal me. I found the right bipolar medications. I re-found Suzanne. I quit drinking. I learned how to manage my PTSD. And today, April 16, 2020, the No Tie o’ the Day Devon turns 35. (Merry birthday, my man!) He graduated from Texas A&M. He’s a high-end landscape architect. As an adult, he has lived and worked in Texas, Italy, and Iowa. He shares his life with someone he loves. I’m so sweetly proud of him from afar.
The Saturday before Pandemic Easter, I was feeling like we should at least be in the vicinity of children celebrating the holiday. I texted Suzanne’s niece, asking if she thought her boys would get a kick out of us doing a one-float, drive-by parade on Easter afternoon. She was certain they would. In fact, when I crawled out of bed Easter morning, I got a text from her before I had both eyes open. Her text said, “First words out of Liam’s mouth today, ‘I’m so excited for my parade today!'” The pressure was on!
Skitter wore her pink halter top and her patriotic Tie o’ the Day, as well as her trademark cowboy hat. I wore my Tyvek duds and a Bow Tie o’ the Day, so I could be the Pandemic Easter Bunny. I broke out a dozen packages of marshmallow Peeps I bought on clearance last Easter, which I’ve been saving—cuz last year a brilliant idea came over me to decorate a vehicle with said Peeps for Easter weekend, just for the heck of it.
Suzanne and I attached the Peeps to our parade “float” as well as we could. It turns out that the old Peeps had dried out too much, and fresh Peeps are too gooey to cut. We had to practically rip open the Peeps to make them stickable. This was my first try at Peep-ing a vehicle, and I will admit that by the time we could get the Peeps to stay stuck on the car, they didn’t even resemble the Peeps they really were. The multitude of colors was purty, though. We had a parade to produce, so we went with what we had.
It was beautiful, but cold outside, so we didn’t stay at the boys’ yard long. The boys seemed to enjoy our confusing tiny parade. They got an Easter basket from Skitter, and their parents got an Easter egg filled with toilet paper. We got to see their family, but without hugs. Mission accomplished, but without hugs.
I’ll certainly do more Peep experimenting between now and next year, so I can improve the final “parade float” look. I will make my idea work. I am proud to report that most of the dismembered Peeps stuck to the car all the way home on I-15. Some of the Peep parts even stuck through two different car washes.
Tie o’ the Day helped me out in my quest to create a few medical mask substitutes which could be used if you have absolutely no access to the real thing. From a cowgirl hot pad, to a running shoe, to a copy of a photo of Mom and Dad, and all the way to Mom’s long-time license plate, which my truck inherited when Mom quit driving her car— they all work, as far as I’m concerned.
I passed this church in Bountiful on my way to get my hearing aids adjusted. And of whom did I think? The ever-flourishing Grace Anne Blackwelder. Wood Bow Tie o’ the Day presents 10-month-old Gracie, Queen o’ Scots. ‘Nuff said.
Thanks to whoever it is at Millard Care and Rehabilitation in Delta who snapped this shot of Mom and her bigly butterfly. It looks like she had a fine time crafting what I like to think of as a butterfly-style Bow Tie o’ the Day. Hey, you know darn well I’d find a way to wear this with a clashing shirt. (Thanks for taking the other shots too.)
MCR’s up-to-date Facebook page provides us welcome assurance that our loved ones who reside there are busy and happy, even though we aren’t allowed to personally visit them while COVID-19 lurks about. We know that with the lockdown in place, the folks at MCR are taking extra care to keep the residents safe and engaged in activities.
I cannot praise those who work at MCR nearly enough for all they do for their residents. When we first moved Mom in about 18 months ago, my siblings and I weren’t completely sure we were making the best decision for her. We were all a bit apprehensive about if she would really like living in “the care center.” But Mom began to thrive there almost immediately, and it reassured us we had made the right decision for her. In those first months, I received texts from some of her caregivers, updating me on her well-being. A few weeks after Mom moved in, a caregiver texted me to say Mom was missing my late dad horribly, so I posted a bunch of pix and stories about Dad over the next few days— which the caregiver made sure to read to and show to Mom daily. It seemed to help Mom out of her Dad-funk.
Because of the dedicated caregivers who work at MCR, Mom’s adjustment to her new, last home was easier on Mom than it was on us. Mom says the MCR food is tasty. The facility’s schedule is always full of field trips, games, parties, musical programs, and crafts. Mom didn’t answer her phone one day, and I found out later it was because she was on a trampoline. Another time she didn’t answer because she was getting her Temple Recommend.
Thanks again, MCR. Mom loves you, as do we. Keep posting the pix! Skitter and I will be down to see you all after the lockdown ends.
Well, I admit I’m probably not much more mature than I was. But I am another year older, as of last week. I declare my thanks for all the birthday regards which came my way from y’all. I try to never lose sight of all the kind people who have crossed my path throughout my life. And I mean you, of course, among others. By blessing, by luck, and by accident, I have always found good folks to know. I’ve encountered some mean beings here and there, but I have always tried to keep them at bay from me and the stellar humans I claim as my family and friends. If you believe in kindness and laughter, you are not just a name to me. You are my true clan.
In these photos, I present Bow Tie o’ My Birthday Dinner. Suzanne treated me to dinner in SLC at TABLE X, where our waiter scrounged up a candle for my birthday tiramisu after he heard it was my bday. Also, I liked the light fixture in the restaurant’s bathroom, so here it is for you to see. And finally, note Suzanne’s faces when she’s paying the check at the end of the evening. It looks like it was the teensiest bit painful for her and her debit card. But I’m worth it, she says. After all these years, I’ve still got her completely fooled.
Here’s the photo (from 2017) you wait all year to see! Here’s TIE O’ THE DAY’s ultimate leprechaun—Mom. She’s Helen, Sr. She’s everybody’s grandma. She’s the maker of to-die-for potato salad. She’s a tough old dame who, at 89, is still quick to share her tales, feisty opinions, and humor with you. Don’t mess with her, or you will face the wrath of her shillelagh. 🍀
I think this photograph of me and Mom conked out in Dad’s chair ranks as my favorite Helen & Helen snapshot ever. Dad must have liked the scene too, to go to the trouble to photograph it—back in the day when you couldn’t simply snap a photo with a nearby cell phone. TIE O’ THE DAY likes to post it for y’all to see at least once or twice a year. Posting it today is my birthday present to myself. I post the Bow Tie o’ the Day near-naked toddler-me photo as proof that I prefer to dwell in absolute joy whenever possible, whether I’ve got teeth in my mouth or don’t.
TIE O’ THE DAY is putting away the Nashville file, so these are the last photos from the trip I wanted to post.
First is a snapshot of me and one of the gryphon statues inside The Parthenon. We gave each other a high-5 of sorts.
Next, I present photos of more bottles of wine I didn’t buy. I find the wines’ outlaw-y names an interesting theme for marketing wine. It’s puzzling too, cuz I see this jail theme for hawking spirits mostly in the south, although not exclusively.
Next, I alert you to a restaurant called MERCHANTS for a meal and a shoeshine. I ate the most incredible sandwich there: a salmon BLT. If Suzanne were telling this, she would write about the waitress who was enamored with me and my bow tie and my backpack and my jacket and my being a writer… Well, you get the drift. And then Suzanne would tell you about how the waitress kept finding reasons to come to our table during our meal, and about how once it became clear to said waitress that Suzanne and I would be leaving the restaurant and Nashville together—no if’s, and’s, or but’s—the waitress who had fawned all over me from the minute we came in— well, she practically threw the receipt at me. And I had even given her a bigly tip. Suzanne would tell you all of that happened. But you won’t hear a word about all of that juicy news from me. I don’t write gossip! To me, it was smashing food, with just the teensiest hint o’ drama. I can’t promise you that your experience at MERCHANTS would be the same as mine if you went there, but if you want your ego boosted or somebody you’re eating with to get semi-jealous, it’s worth a shot. We did eat there a second time (different wait staff), and it was all yummy food; compliments on the Bow Tie o’ the Day; and zero drama. When the waiter at MERCHANTS leaves your check, they also leave a MERCHANTS postcard for you. My postcard came with a bow tie picture, of course.
And finally, I ran into a Jim Reeves record poster. (And if you don’t know Jim Reeves’ music, don’t you dare say you are a country music fan. He’s long dead, but he’s still relevant.) Jim Reeves’ song, “He’ll Have To Go” is Mom’s fave of his songs. All through my kidhood, she sang it when she was happy, and she sang it when she was sad. Even as kid, I could tell just by how she sang it what mood she was in. She’d be ironing or cooking or mopping, and she’d sing the first line—”Put your sweet lips a little closer to the phone”—and I immediately knew by her voice’s tension whether I should hide underneath the built-in bunkbeds for an hour or two, or whether it was a perfect time to ask for a new toy. If Mom were a poker player, how she sang that line would be her “tell.”
