Category: Family

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Mom Is Very Quiet Here With Us Today

Mom likes the color orange. It was a no-brainer to pick the Bow Tie o’ the Day I am wearing to type this post, which covers the time I spent at MCR, aka, the Care Center, with Mom yesterday. I didn’t get to spend enough time with Mom. Never do. Never will. So I dug out this photo of Mom in her mid-teens, and Skitter and I are hanging with her again today, if only in photograph spirit.

I don’t tell Mom when I’m coming to visit. I just arrive in her doorway. I would hate it if I told her when I’d be there, and then something came up to make me unable to show up then. I’m not big on canceling on Mom. Nor should any of us be big on missing appointments with our elders. Anyhoo…

When Skitter and I entered Mom’s pad, Mom had just gotten back from breakfast and was under her covers, prepped for her post-breakfast/pre-lunch nap. Skitter knew a good situation when she saw one. She immediately jumped right up on the bed, curled into Mom’s side, and told me to leave them both alone to doze.

Skitter felt so much more confident and at ease at MCR on her second visit. She did not shake or shiver this time, even when people spoke to her or petted her. Skitter was able to keep it at a low vibrate. Skitter is such a hit with the residents she’s met that there is no way in heck I would dare show my face at MCR without being accompanied by her. We’re a team.

My cousin, Gina Diaz, and her daughter Haylee dropped in to check on Mom while I was there. General nuttiness and storytelling ensued. I don’t know if we three Wright old broads entertained Haylee or if we scared her. We laughed, chuckled, chortled, guffawed, snort-laughed, etc. When we get going, we cause all of the various types of laughter. Gina asked me to model my new cape, which I did. Both sides! And a few minutes after Gina and Haylee left MCR, I called myself a very bad word in my head. I was angry I hadn’t thought to capture Gina and Haylee with me and Mom in a TIE O’ THE DAY photo. Next time.

While at MCR, my Sister Who Wishes To Remain Nameless (SWWTRN), and I and Skitter attended a little meeting with Mom. Apparently, at MCR each resident (and the resident’s family) has a casual, but documented, meeting with those who are ultimately responsible for each aspect of their care: meds, nutrition, counseling, etc. At these gatherings, residents are asked if they have any comments, complaints, issues, suggestions, etc. that need to be addressed in order to improve their care, as well as to improve the total MCR experience itself. (I assume MCR does this with the residents at regular intervals. I need to ask about that.) Mom has no complaints about MCR whatsoever, and she gave only high praise to those in charge of her. She loves the MCR experience.

While we waited in the lobby for Mom’s MCR meeting to begin, she was antsy. She asked, “Did I do something wrong? Was I supposed to fill out a paper?” No, Mom. I and my SWWTRN tried to settle her. I mean, she wasn’t upset, but she wasn’t relaxed about it either. She was a bit apprehensive probably because it was her first meeting. We tried to explain the purpose of the meeting was for her and those in charge of her care to check-in with each other about how things are working. I had to actually say these words to bring Mom down a notch: “Mom, they aren’t going to kick you out.”

When the conference room door opened for us to go into the meeting, a half-dozen or so MCR staff members were waiting for us at a long table. Mom jokingly asked them what she was being called on the carpet for doing. I told Mom she’d be fine if she just acted like she was there to get her Temple Recommend.

The meeting went smashingly. Mom is not kicked out of the Care Center. So far. I did tell her she forgot to complain about all the sexual harassment she has to endure at MCR. She said it was ok she forgot to mention that. She must not mind it. (har, har, har)

I must also report that Skitter enjoyed sitting-in on Mom’s meeting immensely, although she chose not to contribute to the discussion. She’s shy, you know.

FYI The next post will be about the reason I will no longer take lots of photos of Mom, for these posts.

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Good Thing I Took ‘Em To Her

Skitter and I and my slim-line Bow Tie o’ the Day had a blast visiting Mom in her MCR bachelorette pad earlier today. One of the first things Mom said to me and The Skit when we arrived was, “I need my sunglasses so I can see.” I handed Mom her usual shades from her table and she was convinced they weren’t her sunglasses, even though they were. She said they didn’t fit right. That was my cue.

Voila! I immediately pulled these bow tie-shaped shades from inside my cape, and Mom grabbed them heartily– as if she’d owned and protected them forever. Honestly, when I bought these sunglasses for her I didn’t know if she would actually like them. I knew I could get a jolly Mom-bow-tie-photo out of it, but I had no idea she would take to them so easily and so much. (The bow tie doesn’t fall far from the tree?) Mom wore them during our entire visit. And one of my MCR spies has already let me know that Mom is still wearing the bow tie spectacles, even as I prepare to post this from my house in Centerville.

I lost count of how many folks at MCR complimented Mom on how snazzy her new sunglasses look. I was especially grateful to Skitter for having had the presence of mind to remind me to put the speshul shades in the car before we headed out to Delta this morning. Saved by the Skitter!

Tomorrow, I’ll post more about our MCR playtime with Mom. I’m too exhausted from the quick roundtrip to do any further thinking.

BTW Skitter’s visit with Mom was just the thing her little doggie-highness needed. She got a part of her Skit-spark back.

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A Car Ride To The Country

Here’s Mom from the mid-70’s. Our living room. Dad’s green chair, which had to be reupholstered and re-springed half-a-dozen times because he liked it so well he refused to get a new chair for his old butt. Mom’s reading either The Salt Lake Tribune or The Chronicle. Isn’t her freshly done hair boo-tee-ful? And if I remember correctly, here she’s showing off her new ring and watch, which Dad gave her. (I tacked on Bow Tie o’ the Day. Duh!)

Skitter and I are jumping in the car in about ten minutes to drive a couple of hours to our old Delta stomping grounds to see this regal Queen. We’ll certainly report our findings. I think the trip will perk up Skitter’s current blah’s. And mine. That’s what Mom does, whether she’s trying to or not.

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It Finally Happened

I can’t believe it. I guess I did it. And it surprised me. I pushed Suzanne to her limit. Suzanne got upset about a photo I posted here. I didn’t mean to get her out of kilter about anything, but she got that way anyway. It was the photo from the morning of January 5th, when I was wishing Georgia Grayson Wadsworth a merry birthday. Even though I posted it a few days ago, Suzanne didn’t bring it up until yesterday.

If you recall, the pic had been taken at one of the infamous sleeping parties I hosted in the 70’s. It shows Georgia surprising me while I’m on the potty, while someone else takes the picture (and I’m sure it was Tauna). It’s an innocuous photograph, if you ask me. All you can see is my naked thigh. And a little bit of the naked almost-behind my thigh. But Suzanne was not pleased with me so wantonly putting it out in cyber land for all to see.

To me, it was the bathroom wallpaper that was so hideous and offensive about the scene. I almost didn’t post the snapshot because of it.

I told Suzanne posting the picture was really not a bigly deal, since I was a prolific mooner in the Delta environs during those years, so almost all Deltans had seen my butt anyway. She was kinda not amused. “Disturbing” is the word she used.

I’ve got her settled down now. This morning she got ready for work without bringing it up again. I dashed out of the house to get to my physical therapy appointment ASAP. I headed out long before I needed to leave, because I wanted to escape the house before Suzanne even had a chance to bring it up. She has not texted me about the whole hullaballoo, so I’m probably safe now. She’s most likely moved on.

Anyhoo… I figured I should post a completely, absolutely innocent photo– with an equally innocent Bow Tie o’ the Day. Just to be safe. Suzanne cannot quibble with a photograph of Helen, Sr. and baby Helen.

[Hey, check out Mom’s curlers. I think she still has the very same set.]

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The More Things Change, The More Things Change

TIE O’ THE DAY took the Sabbath off. We slept in, then binge-watched IN PLAIN SIGHT, and then it was time for dinner at the in-law’s. We drove over to their house, even though they live only about three blocks way. We always drive there, and I think it’s ridiculous that we do that. But we do it anyway. What lazy butts we have. We always come up with an excuse not to walk there. Yesterday, we decided it was too cold to hoof it over. Our excuses are rarely good ones, but that doesn’t matter to us.

Bow Tie o’ the Day has a classic Tiffany glass design. It’s a beauty. I wore it for the express purpose of showing you my latest interior design construction: a trail of ascending/descending books. As a lover of books, I named this the Stairway the Heaven. I design with books, and I thought I’d try this books-on-the-stairs look. It is visible the minute you walk in the front door, and people who’ve come into the house seem to like it. It’s eye-catching because it’s unexpected. FYI It leaves ample room to walk up and down the stairs, which is the most important concern. Safety first!

We are always running short on bookshelves, so I guess I’ve just given up. I try to find other places for the library to live. At some point, there’s no more wall space for more shelves, so I’m making do. So far, Suzanne has been mostly okay with my book spots. She is, however, tiring of the twenty books stacked on the toilet tanks in each bathroom. I can tell she’s had it with that. But, really, I never know exactly what I’m going to want to read when I’m bathing or am otherwise occupied in the bathroom, so I like a large selection handy. I say the books stay. And they will. Until Suzanne has finally had enough and moves them.

We don’t argue about stuff like that. Things like that just stay the way they are, until suddenly they are different. I’ll simply walk into the bathroom one day and the books will be gone. They will have been replaced with a knick-knack or doodad. That’s the clue that Suzanne’s patience with the towers has ended, and I better not put books there again. Well, okay then. Argument avoided about something that doesn’t really matter, in the scheme of things. Score.

Suzanne puts up with a lot, so I rarely have a problem with her sorta having the final word on house design matters. As long as something isn’t in the way of my antics or isn’t hideous, I’ll roll with it. Sometimes, I even know she wants to put something somewhere she won’t even mention. For example, I knew she wanted the Ultimate SewingBox in the living room, where we spend most of our time. But I also knew she would never in a bazillion years ask me if it was okay to put it there, since it hogs so much space and sewing machines are loud. I took it upon myself to suggest the idea and ask if she wanted to put it there. She was gleeful. That made me happy. The television volume does have to be deadly loud though.

Suzanne and I agree upon pretty much all of the bigly things. She even picked out our house without me when we were in the market six years ago and I had to be in Delta with Mom. Yes, we do have veto power over each other’s bigly decisions, but we rarely use it. Think about it: If you don’t agree about the bigly things with the person you live with, why are you even living with them?

Most disagreements aren’t about life-altering choices that might be more important to one person in a couple than the other. Most things don’t matter. Most arguments between couples are about small, unimportant things like who’s turn it is to do the dishes. We should all stop that. What’s wrong with us that we let the tiny, irritating stuff set the mood of a household? Do you really wanna come home to that?


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Just One More Christmas Tie, And Then I’m Really Done

I wore Tie o’ A Couple of Weeks Ago at a pre-Christmas dinner with Rowan, at his aunt’s and uncle’s abode. Rowan does not wear ties so I shared mine with him for the photo. I did count this tie in our Holiday Tie Tally, but just haven’t posted the photo until now. It is one of my fave Christmas ties, with its clever reference to Grant Wood’s painting, AMERICAN GOTHIC. I am a fanatic for all things clever.

I had no time to post this morning because I had a PT appointment in Farmington at 7:45 AM, and an appointment in Daybreak with my crazy-head doctor at 8:00 AM. It is nearly impossible to be in two places, 35 miles apart, at the same time. I am not a flash-speeding superhero. Nor do I have an invisible plane like Wonder Woman. I managed to switch my PT to 10:30, so it all worked out. [I wasn’t stoopid enough to schedule the appointments to conflict with each other. It’s a long, boring story about how that happened. Trust me, it ain’t interesting enough to be worth your time to hear it.]

I am mystified about how often I have whole weeks when I have zippo in my calendar, then I make one single solitary appointment, and then something else has to be done the same day– or even at the exact same like, like today. And as I look ahead at my calendar, I can see I have no appointments scheduled until an appointment on February 3. Wanna bet some doctor visit, or other can’t-skip thing, has to be taken care of on that same day? And then I will again go weeks with no appointments scheduled, and when I finally do schedule an appointment, the whole weird thing will happen again.

To further illustrate my point: Last week I found out Suzanne and I will be in Tucson in March, from the 3rd until the 6th. On the same day I found out about Tucson, it just so happens that I learned BAND OF HORSES will be doing one concert in Las Vegas on the 7th. I must see them live. I must go. I will not be dissuaded. So… Do we fly back to SLC and turn around immediately to fly to Las Vegas? Or do we fly from Tucson directly to Las Vegas for the concert, then back to SLC? It makes sense to do that, but it will end up costing us a bunch of extra bucks to do it that way.

It’s not just those two time conflicts on that pair of days. Nope, there’s a third thing I’m supposed to be doing. On the 7th, I have an appointment scheduled with my crazy-head doctor. I made the appointment in October, since she is always booked that far ahead. Of course, I’ve gotta reschedule it. Who knows when I can get the appointment rescheduled. Probably May.

See, within a 24-hour period, I’m supposed to be doing three different things in three different states. And there isn’t one appointment on my schedule for the two weeks before and the two weeks after the crazy March 6/7 confluence of to-do things. How and why does this happen?

FYI Not to fear for The Skit. Skitter is already set up for Suzanne’s sister, Marjorie, to come over to our house for a week of sleepovers while we’re out of town. I doubt Skitter would survive staying in a kennel, no matter how great it is. She would shake and shiver until all her fur fell off, or go on a hunger strike. Skittish Skitter needs to stay in her own home, and Marjorie loves to spend time with her. Skitter feels safe with Marjorie. It all works out well.

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Two Ties In A Pod

I donned these Ties o’ the Day to wear alongside each other because they reminded me of a couple of people I know very well. Suzanne is one, and I am the other. Ties o’ the Day are accurate representations of our distinctive ways of moving through life.

Suzanne is the pretty red Tie o’ the Day, with its perfectly straight tree sides and its perfectly round tree ornaments. Suzanne is the trees being properly green. She’s the single gold line moving in thin curves, playfully and wildly in Tie’s background.

I am the red, what-the-hell-happened-here Tie o’ the Day. (I made it myself.) I am gold glitter, out of control. I’m a red nose, and pom-poms, and a deer whose eyes fell off. I’m a HO and a snowflake. I am full of empty spaces: hardened glue spots where I’ve lost some decorations from year to year. I am what is missing. I’m a silver tinsel pipe cleaner– – here for no reason except the silliness factor. Tie is as close to a fairly accurate description of my spirit as any.

Suzanne is practical and solid. She is careful and logical, and she plans for the long-term. She plans for the contingencies– for what might go wrong. Suzanne is back-up plans. Suzanne is the troubleshooter and builder. She is imagination and surprise. Suzanne is classic, and patterns, and a steady course. Suzanne is the straight man to my vaudeville act. She’s the breathtaking, bejeweled, antique chandelier from which I swing like a chimpanzee.

I am the comic relief. I am the in-your-face. I am the dark thinker. I am the cacophony, and the calm, and the storm on its way. I’m the rapidly-changing moods. I’m the screaming protest. I’m the creator of impractical amusements we need in order to remain sane. I’m the zig-zag. I’m the taser. I am the free spirit to come home to. I am the storyteller and the poet. I’m the loud, the clash, the funky. I’m the Care Bear and the conscience. I am the drowned and the saved. Oddly, Suzanne says I am the voice of reason. Imagine that.

And do you know what Suzanne’s doing right at this very moment in time? She’s sitting at her Ultimate SewingBox, making me another cape just because it will make me as joyful to wear it as it makes her to sew it.

I write this post as a preface to tomorrow morning’s post about our 5th wedding anniversary, which was last week. The traditional gift for the 5th anniversary is wood, and I had a heckuva time thinking of an appropriately snazzy wood gift for Suzanne. A Popsicle stick didn’t seem quite enough. It turned out we found swell presents for each other.

HOLIDAY TIE TALLY: 102 Bow ties. 210 Neckties.

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A Night Not At The Opera

Bow Tie o’ Last Night spread its Christmas cheer at a new-to-us restaurant find in SLC. In the past few months, I’ve had out-loud conversations with myself about wanting to dine at CURRENT. I’ve googled CURRENT’s menu, and I’ve relayed to Suzanne my enthusiasm about wanting to try the place. So yesterday, when Suzanne said she’d made a reservation for dinner, I was hoping this would be the place. It was. And it is. It is a keeper (pun intended). CURRENT belongs to the same ownership group as my old go-to, STANZA, so I figured I’d be happy with the atmosphere and fare. We were not disappointed.

Golly, my sake-marinated salmon was a culinary pleasure. Suzanne surprised me by ordering the cod instead of scallops. If scallops are on the menu, Suzanne and scallops are the match. But not last night. Personally, I believe making a not-scallops decision was Suzanne’s way of spicing up the relationship. You know, you gotta change it up to keep it alive. You  have to keep your person guessing about you a bit. This was a bigly change-up for Suzanne. Subtlety is her mode.

Anyhoo… Dinner was a definite dessert-deserving meal. Two desserts, to be precise. And I wanted to bring a third one home, but I realized that would’ve been out-and-out sugar gluttony. I’ve been accused of worse. But I decided moderation was a wise course of action for once. (Since my surgery, I have been hungry, 24/7.)

In the photo, notice the background wall’s design of waves and fish. Hence, the place’s name: CURRRENT. It is attached to a bar called UNDERCURRENT.

I planned to get another photo outside the restaurant, which would have shown you my wint’ry cape, but the photographer fell through. Suzanne, it seems, forgot about the required TIE O’ THE DAY outside-the-eatery photo, and she immediately walked off to fetch the car– leaving me striking sexy poses in my cape, under the CURRENT sign, without being photographed while doing it. Silly Suzanne, forgetting a TOTD photo protocol. But the car was warm by the time she picked me up in the street, so that was good.

It’s a total mystery: I’ve tried a number of times to present the totality of my new cape here, but it seems to stay under wraps (pun intended) for some reason I can’t fathom. The cape’s glory doesn’t seem to want to unfurl itself when a photo can be snapped. My other capes threw themselves into the TIE O’ THE DAY spotlight as soon as they were born. But it’s as if this wint’ry cape is trying to remain hidden, like some sort of caped……crusader?

Is this particular cape super speshul? Is this particular cape full o’ superpowers it doesn’t want to call attention to? Is my cape trying desperately to retain its anonymity in order to successfully fight crime and boredom and blandness and whatever else it fights? Does wearing my cape turn me into some kind of superhero, and if so what is my superpower? Time will tell. Time will show. And I can’t wait.

HOLIDAY TIE TALLY: 40 Bow ties. 89 Neckties.

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Dad’s Off Playing With His Dogs In Heaven

Santa-hatted canines abound, covering Bow Tie o’ the Day and Ties o’ the Day. Dad was not just a bee guy. He was not just a holder of any nearby baby. My late dad was also a dog man.

Especially after Dad semi-retired, he was always seen with a mutt companion riding in the back of his truck. He was partial to Labrador Retrievers, like the one here wrapped up in a string of Christmas lights. This Golden Lab resembles the last few dogs Dad had in his life. He had only one dog at a time, but somehow the dogs all looked exactly alike.

Seriously, Dad’s dogs didn’t look alike in the sense of being of the same breed. Nope. They just all looked alike. Exactly alike.  And I mean, exactly. Dad inadvertently made it even more complicated for us to keep the dogs straight in our memories because he named his dogs the same names. If the dog was a female, he named it Becky. If it was a male, he named it Bert. I guess by the time Dad was choosing the dogs of his later years, he didn’t want to be bothered to remember new names. I do think he’s the only person who truly knew the separate souls of each of his clone-like mutts.

I’m glad Dad knew I was a baby, and not a puppy, when I was born. He would have named me Becky. Instead, he named me Helen Eileen (see that story in an earlier post). I suppose you could say I was kind of Dad’s puppy for the first six months of my life, though. Mom went through Hell giving birth to me and she was not well enough to mother me for a few months, so my dad was also my mom. (The original MR. MOM?)

My sisters helped take care of me. My grandparents helped. But mostly, I was in Dad’s arms. As I understand it, I spent a lot of time cooing and crying and napping in his bee truck while he worked in the bee yards– from Richfield to St. George to Payson to Heber and back to Delta again.

To hear Mom tell it, Dad was so concerned about her health, and he treated her with such tenderness that he wouldn’t even allow her to lift a finger to change my diaper for the first six months of my life. Now that’s probably a bigly bit of an exaggeration. It’s likely a tall tale. But Dad was tall, and many tales have been told about him. He was mythical in his own way, imperfections and all. Dad was not perfect, but he was perfectly Dad. In his way, he was a true myth I know by heart.

HOLIDAY TIE TALLY: 31 Bow ties. 82 Neckties.

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My Dad, King O’ All Deer Hunters!

Here’s a photo of a handsome tieless chap, along with The Three Wise-Deer o’ Ties o’ the Day. (Try saying that three times quickly.) Each tie deer has chosen to show its individuality with its own Christmas flair: a bow tie, or a red nose, or a wreath. Yup, that’s my dad as a boy, but he never killed a deer if it was wearing a holiday fashion accent.

Eleven years ago this morning, Ronald Edmond Wright died. He was 77, and he was my Dad. My dad. He wasn’t “Father,” “Daddy,” “Pop,” or “Pa.” He’s “Dad.” In this photo, he’s probably around 12, and he’s standing on his family’s front porch. (Yes, this is THE porch. He grew up in this house, which I eventually bought, and which I sold last year.)

Dad was a beekeeper by trade. He was also a brick mason. He was not a man of many words out in the world, but he was a master joke teller anywhere. The same jokes, over and over. But they were hilarious every time. He could tell compelling stories when he wanted to. Of course, he was a talker with us.

Dad was also a sly and energetic coyote hunter. He hunted every critter you can hunt, but nothing thrilled him as much as hunting coyotes. He woke before dawn, and EVERY morning he rode around the county on his perpetual coyote hunt.

When I was thinking of what to write about Dad in this post, I decided on a couple of incidents that most people probably have never heard about. Dad was quiet about them. Dad was not a braggart. When he told me the stories, I was amazed by his quiet decency and grace. He could make a point someone needed to learn, without exposing them to their friends and family.

[Since the place he lived his life, Delta, is a small town, I will be vague about details, and I will not mention names. In order to protect the guilty.]

Story #1. One night, Dad saw a guy steal a piece of his equipment from the property behind our house. It was a bigly piece of equipment that had to be loaded onto a trailer to be moved. Dad let it happen, to avoid us seeing a confrontation in our yard.

Everybody knows everybody in Delta, so Dad knew the guy. Therefore, Dad knew where his equipment would end up. The next day, when he knew the dude would be where the equipment was, Dad drove out and stole it back right in front of the guy, without saying one word to him. The guy just watched as Dad drove away with his rightful property. The cops weren’t called, but justice was served. The guy felt properly shitty about what he’d done. No need for an arrest. Dad humbled the man, but not in public or in front of his family. The point was made. The incident was put aside. Dad and the guy stayed friends.

Story #2. Dad noticed some of his hay was missing, and it kept going missing. (Poor Dad. Everybody stole from him.) Dad kept a closer eye on the hay bales and soon saw the culprit in action. Again, in a small town you know everybody, so Dad knew the dude. Dad knew the guy had a big family and a crappy job. On the side, the guy used his horses to do some other work, to bring more in money for his family. Because of that, the man needed to keep his horses, even though he couldn’t always afford to feed them. Dad realized why the guy had stolen the hay: need and pride.

Again, Dad didn’t call the cops. Dad didn’t embarrass the guy in front of his family or in public. But Dad wouldn’t let the guy keep stealing hay from him. Ain’t nobody gonna steal from Ron Wright. Nope. So Dad threw a couple of bales of hay in his truck, drove to the guy’s horse corral, and told the guy he thought the guy might need some hay for his horses. Dad said nothing about the stolen hay, got back in his truck, and drove away. And then Dad continued to drop off a bale of hay occasionally at the guy’s corral. Point made. And Dad reformed a thief.

Wise moves, Dad. [More Dad stuff next post.]

HOLIDAY TIE TALLY: 30 Bow ties. 80 Neckties.