Category: Skitter

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The Dame

I often mention that I have had a lifelong love affair with words. They fascinate me. One-syllable words have no less charm than lengthier five-syllable words. They all matter. As I began to compose this post, the word “delightful” came to mind. It’s not a word I regularly use, although nothing is wrong with it. I simply don’t inhabit the world of feelings I would describe as “delightful.” But I can only describe yesterday as utterly delightful. Suzanne and Skitter and I trekked to Delta to spend some time with Big Helen, who seems to have shrunk just a bit more each time I hug her.

I wore my new honeycomb golf shirt, and Mom recognized what it was immediately. Dad was the beekeeper in the family, but Mom lived the bee life right beside him every step of the way. She knew a full comb of honey was not only delicious, but it bought school clothes and made car payments. We wished Mom a happy 74th Anniversary, and she wondered why Dad had to leave her. I reminded her he’s waiting, probably impatiently, for her to meet up with him when she decides she’s ready.

Mom wore her royal purple housecoat, and kept showing us how her ring matched it. She was so surprised at the fact that she matched. She knows it’s a rare thing. She and I share a penchant for mismatching in ways that make sense only to us. To match is nothing short of a miraculous oversight. For me, matching is also somewhat painful to my sensibilities. Mom can blithely relish it when it happens. I mentioned to Mom how the royal appearance of her purple housecoat and purple ring stone would surely capture the attention of every person who sees them, she said, “Well, I’ll just start to bow to them all.” And then she thought a minute, and said, “No. I’ll make the people bow to me.” That’s my mother, in a nutshell.

I took the pictures of Mom’s hands because her hands are amazing. Think about how many pints of peaches and pears those hands have bottled. I can’t begin to count the quilts her hands made over the decades. Potato salads, batches of toffee, pans of candied popcorn. And batches of cookies as far as the mind’s taste buds can remember. As I examined her hands yesterday, Mom said they looked “curdled.” It was an elegant and poetic description. Mom has a gift for language too.

As we escorted Mom to lunch, Terry—one of Mom’s fave nurses—passed us in the hall. We chatted briefly. And suddenly, Terry started dancing, and then she got Mom dancing along. I can’t explain how it happened, but it did. Terry then went on her way, and Suzanne and Skitter and I continued walking Mom to her lunch table. As we left Mom, I couldn’t get her happy dancing out of my mind. Mom not only dances at Millard Care and Rehab, but she never dances alone.

BTW I wore my Wonder Woman socks to visit Mom, my own personal Wonder Woman. The Minions Bow Tie o’ the Day is a trip.

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Skitter Has Her Favorite Neckwear, Too

I’m no fool: Skitter’s devotion to me has more to do with her love for my Batman wood Bow Tie o’ the Day than anything to do with me personally. I don’t mind, though. A dog kiss is still a dog kiss, with all its salty stinky charm. Secret of Life #38: Never say “no” to a dog kiss. 🐶 💋

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Skitter Spent Saturday Morning At The Bad Place

Skitter wore her checked collar-with-built-in-bow tie to her visit to the vet, and I wore one of my magnetic, wood t-shirt pieces for my Bow Tie o’ the Day. As per usual, Skitter vibrated with apprehension every minute of her vet appointment. And as usual, having her temperature taken rectally was the single worst moment for her. Her already pleading eyes, got even plead-ier, making her bigly forlorn eyes almost audible to me: Save me, Helen!

As y’all might recall, the black mold in Skitter’s ear has made her left ear an angry shade of red, as you can see. She has been increasingly miserable over the last two weeks. I am happy to report that the vet inserted a medication into the bowels of the Skit’s ear. This medication will be working in her ear to annihilate her ear fungus for the next month, which gives Skitter the added bonus of at least the next 30 days with no bath or ear cleaning of any sort, allowing her treatment to effectively do its work. After we returned home from the vet, and after she finally wound herself down, Skitter remained in her bed on the loveseat for the rest of Saturday, where she dozed and napped and lounged—before she finally went upstairs to her crate and slept peacefully through the night. The next day, she was a bit more her usual eccentric doggie self. Today, she’s acting even more like herself—skittish and wonderfully odd. I don’t have the heart to tell her about her already scheduled visit to the vet in a couple of weeks to get her teeth cleaned. I’ll inform her about her teeth appointment maybe fifteen minutes before we get in the truck to drive there. I already feel bad about it for her. It makes me feel as if I’m plotting against her. Which, technically, I guess I am.

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Skitter’s Ear Hurts

In the late 80’s, there was a television show called “The Days and Nights of Molly Dodd.” It starred Blair Brown as a divorced woman living in NYC. The show was literate, surprising, and engagingly quirky—so, of course, it didn’t last long on network television. Even as I mention the show, I imagine I’m getting nothing but crickets of recognition from most of y’all. Trust me—the show was good. Anyhoo… I loosely recall a particular quote from the show that I have thought of often in my life, when I’ve planned to do one thing, but end up having to do something entirely different. It goes simply like this: “My life keeps getting in the way of my future.” I thought of it again this morning when I planned to create a kind of elaborate new TIE O’ THE DAY post, but then Skitter lost her balance while shaking her ear as she walked. The deep “black mold” she had in her left ear in 2020 has recently come back again. We already have a vet appointment scheduled, but this morning, her stinky red ear is especially angry. She is extra uncomfortable and wants me right where she can see and touch me. So this is all the TO’TD post I can create for now—stuck as I am to the loveseat, held captive by my dog’s misery. Just as it should be.

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Oh, Just Playing With My Face

My wood ‘Merican flag Bow Tie o’ the Day and I gathered up a bunch o’ stuff I don’t need anymore, boxed it up, and put it in the pile I’m going to drop off at Deseret Industries later this week. I had four televisions turned-on throughout our house, so I could watch the January 6 hearing without having to miss a minute of it—while I slaved away at a miscellany of tedious-but-necessary household chores. Up and down the stairs, I trod all day. Poor Skitter followed me up and down religiously at first, but she soon figured out I wasn’t going to light in any single place for an extended period of time, for a while anyway. She split the difference and finally stretched out on the bottom stair, so she was on my mind no matter where I was, because I had to work very hard not to step on her as I made my ascents and descents on the stairs. She looked comfy there, so I didn’t want to bother her by shooing her somewhere else. Yes, Skitter is spoiled. And yes, I’m responsible for it. But it didn’t hurt me one bit to simply step over her doggie body on the stair. Stepping over her even seemed to work out a leg muscle or three that I don’t normally use, so that’s a plus.

I mention the 1/6 hearings only to say that they have reminded me of how weird I have always been. I was a political junkie long before I studied political science. One of my first memories of anything political has to do with the Watergate hearings in 1973, beginning near the end of my 3rd Grade school year. I begged to stay home from school to watch the hearings. But my 10-year-old self wasn’t allowed to do that. I had to settle for watching the missed hearings’ highlights on the evening news, from the mouth of Walter Cronkite himself. (That was kinda cool too, actually, now that I think of it.)

To my young political wonk delight, the hearings were still going on after school let out that year. I don’t remember how often they were held, or when exactly they ended. It felt like they proceeded through the whole summer. When the Watergate hearings were being broadcast, they were on the 3 major tv channels we all received. Yup, only 3. If the hearings were being televised, I was in front of the tv watching and taking notes on the living room floor. It did no good for anyone to make me turn the channel, cuz the hearings were on all of them. (I never counted PBS and BYU as real channels, because I don’t remember us watching anything on either one, except BYU football and BYU basketball.)

Every day, Mom would say to me, “It’s summer. It’s a beautiful day. Why aren’t you out on your bike?” I had no answer except to tell her that I was having fun doing what I was doing. And I really was enjoying myself. Kids continually came to the door, asking if I wanted to play. My answer, if a Watergate hearing was on the tube, was always NOPE. What kid watches the Watergate hearings when she could be riding her bike out to the reservoir to bum boat rides? See what a weird child I was? See why my parents could never quite figure me out? Or figure out quite what to do with me? All I knew about my politics habit was that I was fascinated by the dramatics, rituals, and legalities of this thing called politics.

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Have I Ever Mentioned How Much I Love My Mother?

Mom and Skitter entertain the troops.
Mom’s loves to wear earrings and eat KFC coleslaw.
Mom was full of stories and political opinions Saturday.
Mom just had to show Skitter her box of jewelry.
Skitter sits all amazed.
Mom’s got Skitter, a bag of Swedish Fish, and a new phone. Yay!

Wood Bow Tie o’ the Day joined us for a Saturday jaunt to visit Queen Helen of Delta. We loaded up the car with Swedish Fish and KFC coleslaw, two of Mom’s fave edibles. Our mission was to deliver Mom a new-fangled flip phone to replace her old-fangled flip phone which had ceased to do its one job, which is to keep Mom connected to her begats and her pals. She seemed pleased with the new phone because it functions exactly like the one it’s replacing. Mom has made it very clear to me that she does not want a smarter phone because, at nearly 92, she does not want to have to learn one more damn thing (her swear word, not mine). Mom fell in love with the goldfish-in-a-bag earrings I was wearing, and I fell in love with her blue crystal earrings. I don’t recall seeing them before, but they are the color of her dreamy blue eyes. Note to self: Steal Mom’s ice-blue earrings on next visit.

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The Skitter Doesn’t Fall Far From The Tree

Skitter is a pro Tie o’ the Day wearer, just like me. She sometimes can’t get to sleep without surrounding herself with every tie she owns. I am jealous of her. If I were to attempt to sleep under my bigly tie collection, the weight would not only suffocate me, but it would flatten me out like a pancake in the process. That is why I encourage Skitter to be moderate in accruing her personal collection. That’s right: I preach moderation in all things to her, while I, on the other hand, busy my days creating an extreme, cash-draining, space-occupying, and possibly dangerous necktie and bow tie collection of my own. I’m all about excess. 🛌 🎀 👔

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It’s A Bright, Cold Day In The Neighborhood

Ukraine blue-and-yellow Tie o’ the Day and I spent some time squinting outside in the chilly sun this afternoon, as I de-pooped the backyard—cleaning up after the little poop factory we call Skitter. It is my firm belief that one should treat every activity like a bigly event and dress up for it. 👔🎩👛 Trust me, you’ll enjoy whatever you’re doing just a tad bit more.

I thought of posting a picture of the now-full, clear bread bag I used for the Great De-pooping Reset o’ the yard—as evidence of what I really did this afternoon. Fortunately, I like y’all a whole bunch, so I didn’t. I saved you from seeing that particular visual aid. Emojis will have to do. 🗑💩

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A Long Time Ago, In A Far Away Galaxy In 1964…

Well, I’m having a delightful day so far, even though I have mostly busied myself with doing laundry and tidying up the Tie Room. I decided to forego the maple doughnut I was going to buy to celebrate myself this morning. I’m saving my Lent-breaking taste-buds for birthday dessert tonight at dinner with Suzanne. So it’s just been me and Skitter and this polka dot Tie o’ the Day.

Before Suzanne went to work this morning, she sang me a very high-pitched and wobbly version of “Happy Birthday.” It was faux operatic and just the kind of thing which brings me maximum joy. After Suzanne warbled the first couple of lines, Skitter did something she has never done since she’s been living in our home: she howled right along with Suzanne’s singing until the warbling finally ended. It was as if they’d been practicing together for weeks. I so wish I had been recording the hilarious duet. Now, I can heretofore refer to Suzanne’s singing of “Happy Birthday” as howl-inducing. Indeed, before the ditty was over, I was howling along with the song too. I can already see the howl-along becoming a new family birthday tradition.

I called Mom for my birthday, too. I do it every time I officially grow a year older. Today, I thanked her for giving birth to me at 4:10 A.M. on this date, 58 years ago. She was a bit stunned to think her baby is that close to being 60—as am I. I still feel like her baby, no matter how old I get. She told me she was 88. I gently reminded her she’s 91, to which she said, “Helfry! I guess I am old enough to have a baby as old as you.” (This is where I remind y’all that the word “helfry”—pronounced like the word “belfry,” as in “bats in the belfry”—is one of Mom’s cleaned-up, made-up swear words. I had the word tattooed on my back over a decade ago, in her honor.) Mom and I had a lengthy, laughter-filled phone chat, and she seemed to have a lot of pep today. I hope she remembers my call. But if she doesn’t, I’ll remember it for her. I love my tiny Big Helen. She was my first blessing. I’m her old baby, and I’m forever proud to belong to her.❣️

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A Buddy For Skitter

Skitter takes a cozy nap in her dog bed—with her hard-working new pal.
Skitter joins Rumi at the Roomba helipad.

TIE O’ THE DAY is pleased to introduce the arrival of a new pet at our house. As you know, Skitter and I have been angling for a new critter for a couple of years now. Suzanne has not joined us in our wish. At some point, we finally gave in to the reality that Skitter is so weird there is no plausible way she could handle having another living creature in the house 24/7 without shaking to her tragic death—no matter how badly she tells me she wants an animal pal. Folks, it’s good to let go of the impossible (at least until you figure out how to make it possible). That’s the only way to be free to embrace The Great What Is.

When I got Suzanne the bigly red rug for her birthday, I somehow knew I would eventually be getting her a Roomba to keep her rug immaculate—so a Roomba was Suzanne’s Christmas present. It has made itself at home here with us since then. And it is exactly the kind of pet Skitter can calmly co-habitate with. Part turtle, part manta ray, all vacuum—The Great What Is for us is a Roomba we’ve named Rumi, and we’ve pet-utized it. Suzanne programmed Rumi to be a primarily nocturnal beast.

Skitter has a routine tendency to leave trails of food and slivered bits of dog chews on Suzanne’s red rug—and nowhere else at all—for us to gaze upon with wonder. While Suzanne was initially programming and trying out Rumi, Skitter tried very hard to relate to the new critter, but she was sore afraid of it. She watched it move and it caused her to vibrate with fear, as Rumi seemingly took over the house. It’s not like we could explain a Roomba to Skitter to ease her anxiety. She is just a dog even though I pretend she’s not, and as such she only has a brain the size of a walnut. In the end, I think we came up with a pleasantly livable solution for all involved.

We decided to make Rumi a primarily nocturnal animal. It runs only in the middle of the night. This suits Skitter just fine cuz she’s asleep upstairs when Rumi has run of the first floor. So we have a new “pet,” but Skitter doesn’t have to be askeered of its furtive movements. Skitter ventures over to where Rumi sleeps all day on its own pad, to see and smell her new pet. And Rumi and Skitter occasionally nap together in the dog bed—if Rumi is off. Of course, Suzanne never sees Rumi in motion either because she’s also upstairs asleep when Rumi is awake and active. Rumi and I are tight, however, because I have insomnia often so I go downstairs to putter around and eat popsicles or ice cream while I’m not sleeping: Rumi and I thus share its brief awake time. I guess you could say I supervise the work as Rumi does it.

Twice I have come downstairs in the morning to find Rumi motionless and self-trapped in the tiny 1/2 bathroom, having accidentally pushed the door closed behind itself as it toiled away at cleaning the floor for us. Poor thing. I can imagine Rumi bouncing from one bathroom wall to the next, over and over again, for an hour or so, trying to find a way out and back to home base. Rumi looked so pathetic when I found it like that, so now I try to remember to shut that bathroom door before going up to bed. Yes, I know Rumi is a mere object, but I still felt so sad to picture it trapped and temporarily dead, so close—but yet so far—from its tiny Roomba helipad. Oh, it had places to go.