I’m not out-and-about often these days, but when I am, I check out the pandemic signage. I wasn’t able to get a picture of my fave COVID-19-related sign cuz I was driving to an appointment. The sign was at TWISTED SUGAR in Centerville about three weeks ago, and it said they were giving away a free roll of toilet paper if you bought a dozen cookies. I decided to buy a dozen and get my roll of free toilet paper immediately after my appointment, just to say I did it. And I was going to snap a photo of TWISTED SUGAR’s sign, of course. By the time I got back to the cookie store about an hour later, the sign was already down. Apparently, they had sold out of cookies and tp. I was more upset about not getting the picture of the sign than not getting cookies and a free roll of toilet paper. I always have plenty of both of those things at home. But I was disappointed I couldn’t post a picture of the sign for y’all to see.
Anyhoo… Here are a couple of signs which painted wood Bow Tie o’ the Day and I came across near home as we committed errands today. We thought you’d appreciate them. Sorry, there’s no toilet paper involved in either one. Maybe next time.
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.
Add plastic Easter eggs to Skitter’s List o’ Fears. The Pandemic Easter Bunny put two bigly eggs in one of Skitter’s beds, and The Skit was sore afraid. She immediately voted to social distance the eggs from her bed, although she was a bit more able to enjoy them once it was clear The Pandemic Easter Bunny had filled the eggs with rolls of toilet paper. (That’s what the Pandemic Bunny brought Suzanne.) Skitter relaxed just enough to put on her spring-y, plaid Easter Tie o’ the Day, as she nervously wondered exactly when I was going to finally remove the eggs—with this year’s coveted toilet paper treasure—from her personal space. When I extracted the plastic eggs from her little nest, she then got excited for the Easter parade we were scheduled to create later in the day. Yeah, that Easter story is next up.
In our little home school for quarantined neckwear, Skitter is my aide for all instruction. She is also our school’s mascot. The Skit wears many hats around here—literally and figuratively. Today, we’re learning about the bigly clock on the wall and how to tell time. Telling time is one of Skitter’s finely honed skills. Sort of. She knows 11 AM and 7 PM. She can tell those two times without even looking at the clock, because those are her chewy treat times. She knows those two times deep in her skinny bones, as well as her tummy. However, once when Skitter was helping me teach a lesson, I had to caution her about not flaunting her vast knowledge with our younger ties who do not yet know as many facts— nor as much about the ways of the world— as her mature canine brain does. Intimidating the young neckwear with her intellect would make Skitter a bully, and I will not allow bullies to run rampant on my watch. Skitter wasn’t aware she was being a meanie until I explained the concepts of pride and humility to her. She immediately shaped up, having no desire to be haughty and snotty to her lesser-educated tie pals. Seriously, I cannot abide liars or cheats or thieves, but there is an extra dank and craggy place in Hell for bullies—in my version of Hell, anyway.
I needed to make a break for it. I had to escape the house for a little while. I took Skitter, camo wood Bow Tie o’ the Day, and my chapped lips and we drove west through Farmington—toward the Great Salt Lake, and away from human breathers. We discovered a place whose existence we had never known about before today: The George S. And Dolores Dore Eccles Wildlife Education Center at Farmington Bay. I’d like to say that it’s a groovy place. And I’d like to say Skitter and I found some fetching waterfowl to gaze upon. But I can’t say those things, cuz a bunch o’ other people were out there doing what we were trying to do, so I decided it was prudent to practice my social distancing. We will visit the actual center another time. Skitter and I had a splendid time prowling farmland on the outskirts of the center, where we were alone. We stretched our legs and breathed the lake air, and my lips got more chapped in the sun and wind. I and my chappier lips felt refreshed by our foray afield, after two weeks of staying close to home.
I felt guilty about our adventure the whole time we were on it. I kept thinking: What if I got in a wreck, and the cops and EMT’s and doctors and nurses had to waste their time attending to me just because I got a little stir crazy in the house and went on a completely unnecessary outing which ended up in an accident, while the people with COVID-19 have to wait for their important care behind my selfish self?
I know I’ll go out-and-about again, but you can rest assured I’ll feel properly guilty about it.
Bow Tie o’ the Day had gone missing over the holidays. It took literally yesterday’s earthquake to find it. The only earthquake damage I could locate in the house was this rubble o’ books that fell from a bookshelf in the loft. And what was at the bottom of the rubble when I tidied up? My Christmas plaid slimline Bow Tie, which I’ve been looking for since the holiday season ended. I must have taken it off in the loft and set it down atop the stack of books, which finally crumbled yesterday in the quake. Finding Bow Tie was like getting the Crackerjack prize. And I mean the good Crackerjack prizes of yesteryear, not the “safe” paper things they give us now. Excuse my opinion, but you know darn well a Crackerjack or cereal prize is good only if you can choke on it, get it stuck up your nose, or cut yourself with it. A “safe” prize is just boring.😉
Anyhoo… We survived yesterday’s earthquake, with all but these bookshelf contents in tact. When the quake happened, I had been pondering the idea of getting out of bed. Suddenly, my grogginess was interrupted by what sounded and felt like the garbage truck was plowing right through the house. That was a very long 8-10 seconds, which felt like 8-10 minutes. I was now wide awake. Suzanne was fine. I was fine.
I wanted to head straight downstairs to survey any possible damage to the house, but first I had to release Skitter from her sleep crate at the foot of the bed. I was hoping the earthquake hadn’t already scared the morning pee out of the skittish Skitter, cuz I was not in the mood to wash her bedding and scrub her crate. So I opened her little crate door, and…. no Skitter ran out. Huh? Her crate doesn’t have multiple rooms. She can’t be hiding in its basement or attic or secret passageway. Where is the Skit? I knelt down to peer inside.
Skitter was in a crate corner. She had wound herself into a ball o’ fear so tight that she looked like a rolled-up hedgehog. I could have served her tightly curled body like a volleyball. Gradually, through the day, Skitter loosened herself. She would start to stretch out and look more like herself, then an aftershock would come along and undo some of her progress. By the end of the day Skitter had gotten a bit used to the earth’s tremors, and she was almost back to her abnormal normal. This morning, she seems to have forgotten all about the quake clamor. I admire the critter.
Alert!!!!! Voter fraud was discovered yesterday in Davis County!!!!! Fake vote!!!!! Fake voter!!!!! Fortunately, TIE O’ THE DAY has made a citizen’s arrest, and Skitter is now on house arrest until the 2020 elections are over.
Skitter gussied up in her checkered Bow Tie Collar o’ the Day in order to help her get on the vet’s good side. By the time I had cleared the snow off my car so I could take her to her appointment, I was ready for a day at the beach. All I had, however, was palm trees on a beach-themed shirt AND sneakers Bow Tie o’ the Day. My attire helped cheer me a little bit, but not much. I keep yammering to myself that summer is out there on the ever-closer horizon, but I won’t really believe in my own yammering about summer for two or three more months. Even our winter vacay isn’t going to put me and Suzanne in a warm climate like it usually does. Nope, we’re flying to Nashville in a couple of weeks, and I don’t recall ever hearing about “the warm beach sands o’ Nashville.”
Despite Skitter’s normal paranoid shaking at the vet’s, she is in fine shape. It was simply time for her to get her rabies booster shot. We have to keep Skitter healthy and legal for her visits to Mom—and all her other people—at Millard Care and Rehab. I’ll have to check with Mom to see if she’s had her rabies booster shot. If Mom’s up-to-date with her shots, Skitter and I will be taking a drive to visit Helen A. at MCR, in the D-E-L-T-A, ASAP.
FYI Here, in one of the selfies taken in the vet’s lobby earlier today, Skitter kisses my nose in an effort to convince me she really, really, really doesn’t really, really, really need her shots. I was not convinced.
Even for de-snowing Vonnegut Grace Vibe, I feel it’s only proper to wear a Bow Tie o’ the Day. I chose to wear my VW bugs and vans bow tie for the job. Skitter has a vet appointment later this morning, so I had to excavate through the snow to find the car windows. As for the 10 inches of snow on top of the car, I’m keeping it. Skitter and I shall drive to the vet in flat-top style.
The snow on the patio furniture was about a foot deep this morning. It was dazzling to look at, but Skitter’s never happy when she doesn’t have enough clearance to squat without her butt getting in the snow when she needs to do her business. With her task completed, Skitter hustled her pampered doggie self right back into the house. The stunt Bow Tie’s o’ the Day, on the other hand, frolicked the entire day away in the wind and chill, even as the bigly snowflakes fell again and again. Bow Tie Angels were everywhere.
I have made no secret of the fact that I do not generally like to suffer the cold—even for purposes of play. A little outside cold goes a long way with me. I don’t remember freezing temperatures being so bothersome to me when I was wee, but now that I’m verging on The Really, Really Old Side Of Middle Age, I just say NO to opportunities to romp in brrrrr temps.
I do love to gander at winter landscapes if I can do it from the warmth of the Great Indoors. Also, driving slowly on gravel roads through cold, snowy, desert landscapes in a heated, beat-up pick-up truck is an undeniably amazing experience. If it’s not on your Bucket List, put it on your list right now. Trust me. If you take such a drive in the desert west of Delta, you’ll think you’ve died and returned to life in a snow globe. The sky out that way is just plain that bigly.
Anyhoo… When I was 6 or so, every time it snowed, a certain male member of my family took great pleasure in telling me that boys are better than girls for the simple “fact” that they can pee their names in the snow. It bothered me to no end that I had to suffer through this family member’s constant taunting about a stoopid lie. I knew darn well boys weren’t better than girls, but it annoyed the heck out of me to hear it.
One snow-covered Delta day when I was pestered about this “fact” again, I’d finally had it. I said to the male member of my family, “I’ll bet you $5 I can pee my name in the snow.” The bet was on; my coat was on; my pants were off; and I hop-peed my name in the snow across the front yard. Before I was finished, somebody (or somebodies) in the neighborhood had called Mom to ask if I was ok. Mom brought the long-corded phone receiver and opened the front door. She asked me what I was doing, and I told her exactly what I was up to. I heard her then say calmly into the receiver, “She’s just peeing her name in the snow to win a bet. She’s just about done, and then she’ll put her pants on again.” Nothing fazed Mom.
Later, through the picture window, while I was warming up by the fireplace, I watched various neighborhood kids—and an adult neighbor or two— make a pilgrimage to our front yard, where they paused to admire my doomed-to-melt masterpiece. I had peed a blow for girlkind!
