Category: Family

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Because It Showed Up In The Mail

Tie o’ the Day helped me be kinda matchy as I dressed up in my version of black-tie attire for a night in the city of Salt. Yes, I wore my black-and-white harlequin cape. (Apparently, I also wore a creepy face.)

I don’t know if this happens where you live, but we often get impersonal, bulk mail invitations in the mailbox to attend retirement, investment, insurance, or time-share seminars. They lure you with a free meal. You show up, listen to their pitch, then you get your free food.

When we got one of these retirement seminar invitations recently, I said to my weird self, “Hey, this thing will qualify as a Weird Date Night.” I immediately made reservations. I told Suzanne to put WEIRD DATE on her calendar for that evening, and I didn’t tell her anything about what we would actually be doing. A few days before the event was scheduled to happen, I finally had to inform her of the particulars so she’d know how to dress, and she’d know to not chow down on anything bigly that day.

We’ve never done this type of Weird Date Night before, and we probably won’t do it again. It’s not right to show up to hear about something we have no interest in doing, and then eat for free. But we like new experiences– especially if they’re out of the ordinary. And if they include free food, that’s an enticing bonus.

This particular seminar was happening at Ruth’s Chris Steak House, so it was a no-brainer. I knew up front that part of signing up for this sales pitch meant the company would call us and email us to “follow-up” the next day, which they did. And they will again, I’m sure. Small price to pay for a free salmon dinner. Small price to pay for a Weird Date Night.

The “product” these organizers were pitching was their expertise in retirement planning. I slept through their presentation hour, but with my eyes politely open. When my head nodded in my dozing, I’m sure it just looked to everyone like I was agreeing with the presenters. I’ve been in so many unnecessary, dull work meetings in the course of my life that I am an expert in covert, eyes-open sleep-listening.

In the final analysis, Suzanne said the retirement seminar was actually quite helpful. She’s in charge of our retirement, so I’ll believe her. She’s the money maven.

The seminar was helpful to me too. I got a nap, and I got to put my cheesecake dessert in a Ruth’s Chris take-out bag, so I could go home and further gorge myself for free.

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Mom Was Spot-on Today

Bow Tie o’ the Day joined me and Skitter on a scenic drive to Delta to visit Mom at MCR. Skitter traipsed around the halls in her red plaid bow tie collar, her cowboy hat, and her camo coat. Of course, she was a hit. Wherever she goes, Skitter is always ready to be in a pageant. She’s a star. But Mom’s stardom towers over all of us. She was in bigly feisty, funny form this morning.

Mom’s blood sugar has been excessively high for the last few weeks. When her nurse came to check Mom’s sugar numbers, she asked which finger Mom wanted her to prick today to get some blood for testing. Well, Mom was her usual smart-ass self. She immediately said, “Which finger do you use to flip the bird? I want to use that one. Is this the right one?” She had it exactly right. These pictures are proof.

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Sabbath Stuff

First of all, that isn’t dandruff you can see in my hair. I’m liking the slicked-back hair look right now, but I cannot find a gel that doesn’t become flakey throughout the day. If anyone can suggest a product to help me out on this, please let me know. Flaking hair gel is not the look I’m trying to achieve. (I’ve tried pomades, but they’re too greasy and don’t hold my hair in place.)

I went to Provo yesterday to attend Bishop Travis’ ward. He’s always been a swell nephew. Travis is a superb speaker, and a listener can’t help but learn a lesson or eight from him, whether they want to or not. Whenever we visit Bishop Travis’ ward, I and my SWWTRN sit by his wife, Bishopette Collette. Collette always notices and comments on my bow ties and/or cufflinks, which makes me get a swelled head and causes me to feel way cooler than I really I am.

The reason I chose to wear my Skittles Bow Tie o’ the Day to church is because everybody knows you have to be prepared with a stash of little treats in Sacrament Meeting. Treats must be strategically parceled out to keep the antsy small children quiet. I’m a bigly kid and don’t need to snack at church, but I still like having the idea of candy. Just wearing the representation of candy is enough to keep me under control.

Eating mints helps shut me up and keeps me from bawling and running down the aisles too. I like to suck on mints during church meetings. I don’t know why. It’s just a habit. Mints aren’t treats though. I have proof: Kids know treats and if you give a kid an Altoid, it gets spit out almost immediately. Thus, mints are not treats.

My Rubik’s Cube Cufflinks o’ the Day are also appropriate to wear to church. Church is one of the places you can go to figure out answers to your existential questions: Why am I here? What’s the point of everything? How can I make my life have meaning? etc..

These questions and their answers are a kind of puzzle, and we have to shuffle ideas around in our heads and hearts, in order to put existential concepts together in a way that makes sense to us. As we go through difficult experiences and changes in our lives, the puzzle can get shuffled around. We find ourselves having to take it apart, make adjustments, then put it back together to make sense of it again. If we’re honest with ourselves, we can admit that we have to re-do our puzzle work to some degree many times. That’s called being a mortal human being.

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I Was 21. That Explains A Lot Of Things.

Bow Tie o’ the Day presents me in 1985. This was back in the day when you were required to have your Social Security number visible on your ID. Here’s a noggin’ o’ some hairs I was pleased to have. I liked this cut. And yup, that’s a yellow tail hanging down on my right shoulder. I had that for a couple of years, and I changed the color often. I remember going red, blue, and green at different times with my pet tail.

Mom hated the tail. While I was in Graduate School at the U of U, Sandy Ferrell cut my hair when I was in Delta during school breaks. Mom got more and more apoplectic every time she saw the bright chunk of hairs just dangling there on my shoulder. She threatened to pay Sandy $50 to “accidentally” chop off my colorful tail. No need. About a couple of months after this photo was taken, I shaved my head for the first time. Unfortunately for me, I shaved off my head fur during the winter, and my head froze bigly.

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My Cold, Cold Heart

The first thing Suzanne said to me, with surprise, when she came downstairs this morning was, “You’re not wearing a bow tie!? ” I said, “I know I put one on, but I don’t see it anywhere.” Wood, camouflage-design Bow Tie o’ the Day is hiding from something. And I’m betting it’s trying to dodge the cold.

I had to be at physical therapy at 7:30 this morning. It’s a ten-minute drive to the clinic, but it took me 18 minutes just to clean off the car. It was 20 degrees outside. Even bow ties get frostbite at that temperature. I hate the cold. In case you weren’t clear on that, let me yell this: I HATE THE COLD! Today’s cold is so penetrating it has frozen my heart.

We have a two-car garage, but like everyone else I’ve ever known with a two-car garage, there’s only room for one car. There’s too much stuff nobody needs but nobody wants to get rid of taking up all the space. One vehicle can barely squeeze inside.

It’s only right that Suzanne’s car always gets the garage in winter, since she’s the one that has to be at a job at a certain time five days a week. It would be wrong for her to have to freeze in the cold, scraping her windows before heading to her office. I mean– when it gets right down to it, I freely admit my poetry does not come close to paying for the garage. Suzanne’s job does. Suzanne wins, as well she should.

Suzanne is convinced we will one day be able to fit two vehicles in the garage. I laugh at that thought. I live in reality. Suzanne usually lives in reality, but not on this issue. Between us, we have acquired 108 years of material stuff, most of which we don’t need but we don’t want to get rid of. And we’ll only acquire more things. That’s what people do, and everything can’t live in the house. Especially when the house is already full to the brim with sewing supplies and neckwear.

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Eating Fancy

Bow Tie o’ the Day is one of my bow ties you have to see up close, in order to fully appreciate it. If you scrutinize these tasty chicken drumsticks, you’ll see a few of them have already had a bite taken out of them. Clever little details like that make an already fine bow tie extraordinary.

Although chicken is not an exotic meat, the exquisite Bow Tie does remind me of menus I encountered in frou-frou restaurants when I lived in the Baltimore/Washington, D.C. area. I lived there eight years, so I ate at a few of the finer establishments on occasion.

I was always surprised to see the most outrageously priced entrees on the menu were things like venison, pheasant, trout, rabbit, duck, elk, etc. I did not know, until I moved to back east, that I had spent most of my life eating exotic meats.(Asparagus was considered an exotic side dish.) And, of course, all those meats were free for us. Apparently, even when we had no money, we ate as if we were rich. We were obviously too stoopid to know it. We were redneck hicks, and I’m still proud to be the white trash I was taught to be.

Did I ever sell my soul to pay for one of these fancy meals? Yes. One time. I was curious, and I ordered duck. It did not compare to the duck Mom prepared. In fact, its taste did not resemble duck at all. Duck fail! The worst part of it was that after I paid for it, I was too broke to eat out for another six months.

Once, when I was a kid, Dad headed to California to hang with his bee family, and he was going to be there longer than usual. It was winter– the time of year when we were usually tight on money. He gave a guy a can of honey in trade for the guy to bring Mom a few rabbits for us to eat while he was gone.

A few days after Dad left for California to babysit his precious bees, the dude brought Mom the skinned rabbits in a bucket. She thanked him, and off he went. But when Mom started to put them in a big Tupperware container to put them in the fridge, something about them just didn’t seem right to her. When Dad called to check in, Mom told him there was something hinky about the critters. Dad told her not to use them and he’d deal with it when he got home. Somehow, Mom managed to feed us while he was gone. Hell, we probably ate honey for every meal.

When Dad got home, he opened up the Tupperware container. He said a word or two that I won’t write here. Those skinned “rabbits” were cats. Dad left the house for a couple of hours, and when he came back he had the can of honey he had bartered for the rabbits. And a couple of hours after that, the rabbit guy showed up with a dozen real rabbits, a sheepish apology to Mom, and looking a bit roughed-up. And I remember he brought authentic rabbits to us every now and then throughout the winter. Dad was a very persuasive guy. It wasn’t about the deal. It was about hurting cats, and feeding his family, and messing with Mom.

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My Two Desks, And Some Flowers

Here Bow Tie o’ the Day and I are in my over-stacked, over-messy writing loft. Two desks, a few crates, and two cabinets do not provide enough space for my files. My piles overfloweth.

But at least I’m wearing a flowery bow tie, which I wore to Suzanne’s office to watch her eat lunch. I wanted to take her flowers, but she has allergies. My bloomin’ bow ties solve the problem. If I’m wearing one, Suzanne knows it means I’m metaphorically giving her a bouquet. Bow Tie’s flowers are also more cost-effective than real flowers. That’s an added bonus. No matter the price though, I’d still give her fresh flowers if she wouldn’t sneeze the petals onto the floor.

Dad had horrible allergies, which is beyond inconvenient if you’re a beekeeper. Alfalfa fields and orchards were his offices. One summer evening, after a long day in the bee yards, Dad was reading the newspaper in his chair, which sat just inside the front door by our house’s picture window. The door was open to the screen door, in order to get some air moving through the stuffy house. The house didn’t yet have an air conditioner, so opening the door was absolutely necessary.

Suddenly that evening, Dad got into a prize-winning, allergy-induced sneezing fit. He said nothing. He folded his newspaper closed, got up, and walked out the back door. A few minutes later, he was outside the picture window with a shovel, digging up every marigold in Mom’s flower bed, which was right below the big window. When he was done, he came in through the front door, sat back down in his chair, and opened up his Salt Lake Tribune. He didn’t say a word. And neither did Mom when she saw her marigolds turned over in clumps of dirt. She just shoveled them into the wheelbarrow, hauled them out back, and torched them. That was the end of Mom growing flowers anywhere in our yard. Home should be a place where your allergies can calm down a bit.

This story demonstrates how Mom and Dad understood each other so well that sometimes they didn’t even need to discuss a problem. They simply cut to the result they would have ended up with if they’d had the argument in the first place. It saved them time and energy, and possible hurt feelings. Do not think for one millisecond that their un-argued arguments always went in Dad’s favor. Mom gave as good as she got.

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Dressing For Chores

All paisley, all the time. See, you can have a common thread to your outfit, while still creating the proper clashion. Hat o’ the Day, Cufflinks o’ the Day, Shirt o’ the Day, Vest o’ the Day (which I named the Pimp Vest), and– most importantly– Bow Tie o’ the Day combine to create a clash extraordinaire. I think this is some of my top work. I’m a proud momma of my fashion creation. Paisles are my fave “shape” with which to work my unmatchiness. I suppose my goal to clash makes me a non-matchmaker.

Perhaps I am overdressed for my day’s tasks. First they are all tasks I need to do at home. Cleaning, laundry, etc.. I will probably leave the house only for Skitter’s walkie. But what I’ll be spending most of my task-time doing is going through the storage bins and boxes in the garage, looking for ONE thing: a shoebox-sized box which holds half-a-dozen cassette tapes I recorded with my Grandma, Martha Anderson in 2000.

Grandma had fallen and broken her hip and shoulder. She was in the Delta hospital for a week or so before she could return to her apartment in The Sands. I stayed at the hospital with her each night. Well, Grandma must have gotten all of the sleep she would ever need in the preceding decades because she did not sleep. So we talked. At some point I started to record her stories. When I showed up at the hospital each night, I turned on the recorder and let it go. I haven’t listened to them for years. Life gets busy and you forget to do important things like that. Shame on us.

I know I still have the tapes somewhere, because I remember packing them up in Delta when we moved the contents of the Delta house up here. But I have no clue in which bin I so safely stored them. My biggest concern is that the tapes might not still be in playing condition after nearly two decades. I’ve kept them safe, but I can’t keep them safe from the passing of time. I no longer own a cassette player, but Betty/BT/Mercedes (whatever name you call my oldest sister) still has the one she got as a prize on WHEEL OF FORTUNE in the 80’s. She’s the family genealogist, so these tapes belong with her anyway.

I remember one startling moment during a night with Grandma, which I so wish had been recorded. After Grandma went back to The Sands from the hospital, I still stayed with her most nights. She stayed in a hospital bed in her living room, and I took over the couch.

One night, Grandma finally fell asleep for a few minutes. I started to nod off, when suddenly Grandma loudly said, in her sleep, “Isn’t it funny about horses? How they have sex, you know.” She stayed asleep and never uttered another word until she woke up a little later and asked me to get her some of her “cheesies.” Cheetos. Of course, I happily got her a bowl of cheesies. I did not ask her about the dream she had just had. But I really, really, really wanted to.

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I Love Me My Capes!

Baseball Bow Tie o’ the Day tells you I’m ready for Summer to get its butt here ASAP. It’s not just the cold. It’s the mud. Skitter brings mud into the house every time she comes in from pottying. I have to dust pan and Swiffer at least three times a day. It’s not as if I can tell Skitter to remove her paws before she enters the house. And training her to wipe her feet ain’t gonna happen.

The most important part of this post photo is clearly my newest Suzanne-made cape. The clash it adds to my shirt, tips the scales way over the clash-snappy limit. I win. Whatever the fashion competition, I win. My cape is a superpower all by itself. I haven’t had it long enough to have determined exactly what superpowers it gives me, but I’ll let you know when I find out.

I can say for sure that when I wore it in MCR last week, a few residents did stop in mid-sentence to gaze at its billowy, unfurled-ness as I passed through the halls. It at least has the power to cause momentary speechlessness.

The cape didn’t make Mom one bit speechless though. She complimented the cape, then she went on and on about what a talented seamstress Suzanne is. There I was, in person, with Mom in her room, after driving 2 1/2 hours to visit her, and all Mom could talk about was Suzanne. Of course, all I talked about was Suzanne too. And Skitter. We talked about Skitter, who Mom couldn’t quit petting.

Skitter had to get used to my capes when I began wearing them a few months ago. They whoosh around as I walk, and they are large compared to coats. Occasionally, a cape hem brushes across Skitter’s back. It frightened her at first, but she learned to tolerate it. She tolerates the entire cape thing now because she has no choice .

I usually wear a coat when I take The Skit for her walkies. But for the rest of the outside world, I wear a cape. When I drape a cape on my shoulders, she knows she’s not going anywhere (except when we visit Mom). When I put on a cape to go out alone or with Suzanne, Skitter puts on her I-know-I’m-not-invited, pouty face. I think Skitter blames the capes for her being left alone– as if they’re my new pets and I’m taking them for secret walkies without her. Perhaps Skitter needs her own personal cape to wear, and to play with when I’m not home. I’ll speak to Suzanne, the resident seamstress, about that.

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Wrestling With A Dilemma

Bow Tie o’ the Day adorns Mom as she poses in front of THE PORCH, in 1948. Momo and Popo’s porch was a huge part of my life as a kid, as well as Mom’s and my life after they were gone and I bought their house. After Dad died, Mom spent time on my porch two or three times a day, when weather permitted. She occupied the porch alone, or with me when I was in town. During the last year of Peggy’s life, Peggy joined us at least once almost every day. We watched the comings and goings of the neighborhood, and we solved all the problems of the world. If only the world listened to our brilliant ideas.

I mentioned in my last post that I have decided to post fewer (and maybe zero) new photos of Mom doing TIE O’ THE DAY. It’s recently become a concern I’ve been cogitating about.

Although I began TIE O’ THE DAY around four years ago, I’ve posted interesting pictures of Mom on Facebook for at least a decade. I started after Dad died. After some of the humorous photo posts starring Mom, my brother, Ron, left a message on my phone. He had seen one of the silly photos of Mom and he asked me if Mom knew I was posting them. He wondered if I might be being disrespectful to her by doing it.

When I called him back, I assured him that I okayed every post with Mom before posting it. In fact, I told him, the reason I didn’t answer his call– the reason he had to leave me a voicemail– was because Mom and I were sitting on the porch when he called, busy reading the funny and loving comments left below one of her posted photos by friends and family. Mom had been laughing so hard at some of the responses that she began laugh-crying. Mom loved the comments, and she loved reading the names of those who LIKEd the post. Some people who responded were people she hadn’t seen or thought about in years. When I told Ron the whole thing, I think he understood.

But here I am now, finally having my own reservations, based on Mom’s current situation. Let me be clear: I am so pleased with the photos taken by the staff at MCR, which are then posted to their Facebook page. I like being able to see Mom and knowing what activities she’s participating in. I’m glad MCR does it. Following their Facebook page lets me check in on Mom from 145 miles away.

But what I do is different. I usually use the photos I take of Mom as part of posting sarcastic, snarky, sometimes irreverent things here on TIE O’ THE DAY. Before taking the photos, I sometimes give Mom a bow tie or silly hat to wear, and she’s always been a sport about it. In fact, there have been times when I’ve visited her or she’s stayed with us when she’s excitedly said things like “When do I get my tie? When are we going to take our picture?” or “Are you going to take our tie picture? Do I need a hat?” And, of course, after I’d post a “tie picture,” I made sure to read her the Facebook responses and the list of folks who sent their LIKE’s. She has always found the whole process quite joyous.

Here’s my quandary. At this point, Mom sometimes doesn’t quite have her bearings. Her mind is sometimes confused. She forgets. Recently, I pulled out a tie for her to wear for our “tie picture” and she asked me, “Now what am I doing with this tie? Why are we doing this?” Mom is not a prop. I know you all like seeing photos of her. Posts with her photos always get the most Facebook LIKE’s. But I refuse to take or post a picture of Mom if she doesn’t know why I’m doing it, and hasn’t okayed it– in her all-there mind. I won’t do it without her permission. And I know y’all wouldn’t want me to.

On the other hand, what do I do if Mom brings it up, and asks to do it? Can I trust her “permission” now, even in those moments when she seems completely in charge of her faculties. I suppose I will have to decide on a case-by-case basis.

What I do still feel entirely comfortable doing is posting old pictures of Mom, taken throughout her life. I can write posts that reflect them. I am equally sure Mom is/would be amused with how I put ties and bow ties on the photos. She would not find that disrespectful. Mom had and still has her sense of humor.

Most of you are Mom’s friends. Some of you have been friends with Mom before you became friends with me. I’m sure some of you have recently had my same concerns. Just know that if I do post a more current picture or two of Mom, be assured that I spent time thinking about whether it would truly be ok with her for me to do so. Ultimately, that judgment falls on me, and I don’t take that responsibility lightly.