Category: Stories

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But Will I Really Do It This Time?

Instead of a bow tie around my neck or attached to my shirt this afternoon, I wore the word “bowtie” (I prefer the 2-word spelling of “bow tie”) and the Chevy bow tie symbol which are both printed on my t-shirt. As such, I’m wearing a rare two-fer Bow Tie o’ the Day. They each qualify.

The bigly task I assigned myself today was to deal with my notebook o’ passwords. For the last dozen years, I have filled its pages with hurriedly scribbled passwords, in no particular order, for all of my accounts on all of my devices. But honestly, I have also filled the notebook with things like Post-It notes, pieces of torn bill envelopes, and even a square of toilet paper—all covered with hastily written usernames and passwords when my Official Password Notebook wasn’t handy. As I’ve put each password-y scrap of paper into the notebook, I have always done it with the sincere intention of soon copying the passwords into the notebook when I had time. Well, whether or not I have the time, the time is ripe for me to organize and consolidate these passwords that are so necessary to the business of the current culture.

My password situation is more than a tad out of hand at this point. I dread it when Suzanne asks what the password is for something. I want to say, “How the heck should I know?” But I’m supposed to know, because I’m the one in charge of the Official Password Notebook, which is teeming with over a decade of unorganized information, including old usernames and passwords I simply haven’t gotten around to disposing of yet. Besides, I might need them eventually. Not! I’m sure Suzanne dreads having to ask me for a password, too, because I immediately get a consternated look on my face as I ferret through the notebook in my attempt to decipher what’s written on the million scraps of various sorts of paper. Successfully locating and translating whatever Holy Grail password Suzanne’s seeking at any given time is a process which takes me longer than it should. It’s also not a pretty event in which to participate.

Anyhoo… My goal is to consolidate every bit of information contained within the Official Password Notebook into the much-smaller-but-has-plenty-of-room notebook you can see in the last photo. The smaller notebook cover reminds me of Mom. And Relief Society. I like that. I’ll let you know how this project goes.

BTW The answer to this morning’s riddle is the word EMPTY.

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It Feels Like The Day Before Christmas Eve

My nautical-themed wood Bow Tie o’ the Day is slightly symbolic of where my head is at today: I am hyper-focused on traveling somewhere. Why? Because my Maverick is currently being built. Finally. You can see from my screen shot when I officially ordered it back in November. I am almost ashamed to admit how many times I have picked up my phone to check on the truck’s progress since I got word yesterday morning about its impending birth. I am being serious: I have not been this giddy with excitement since I was able to marry my soulmate almost nine years ago. I can’t wait for Ford to put the little check marks in the “In Production” and “Built” circles. My brother-in-law, Kent, is skeptical about the truck actually being built after these many months of waiting. He says he’ll believe there’s a truck when he sees it. Through my sister, Mercedes/BT, Kent has asked me about the status of the alleged Maverick nearly weekly since I ordered it. His concern for me getting my truck order filled has earned him the first ride in the I-can’t-believe-it’s-still-unnamed vehicle. I, on the other hand, have no doubt the truck will be built soon and successfully, because last night Ford emailed me a copy of the truck’s sticker—complete with price. If it’s down to the money part of the vehicle-buying process, there will have to be a tangible product before I get out the crowbar to pry open my frugality-trained wallet. 💸

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My Dreams Are Not-So-Silent Movies

Even a slim, wood mustache Bow Tie o’ the Day cannot figure out what’s been occurring in my dreams for the past week. The first night it happened, I thought it was a fluke, but it has happened in my dreams every night since. And just what strange thing is it that’s going on in my dreams? Well, my dream-self seems to be as hard of hearing as I am in real life. If a character in my dream talks to me, I immediately pipe up with, “What?,” “Pardon?,” or, “Will you please repeat what you just said?” If you’re around me in my awake life, you can corroborate that I somewhat regularly ask for whatever is said to be repeated. I can hear, but I don’t always hear the clear edges of words anymore. My hearing aids definitely help with the situation, but they can’t solve the entirety of my hearing dysfunction. So I am now a person who annoyingly has to ask for other people to repeat themselves, sometimes repeatedly, until I figure out what it is they’ve just said to me. I annoy even myself by having to ask it. It’s bad enough that I have to do it in my awake life, but now I am consistently asking for people in my dreams to repeat themselves—which makes my dreams rather nightmarish with real-life tedium. I am wearing myself out in my dreams by simply trying to hear what’s being said by the characters that inhabit my dream-life. Now, that’s odd. Apparently, not only am I an eccentric girl when I’m awake, I even dream in eccentricities.

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If I Truly Wanted A Motorcycle

Floppy-looking wood Bow Tie o’ the Day isn’t the most comfortable bow tie critter I own. In fact, it’s downright heavy. Consequently, I wear it only if I’m going to be out of the house for an extremely short period of time. My new Hat o’ the Day is welcome to go anywhere with me for however long I’m tasking out in the world: ketchup goes with pretty much everything, at least according to what I observed of my dad’s eating habits. Ketchup is now newly memorable to me for its political significance as well.

As far as the topic of motorcycles goes, the truth is this: if it was important to me to own a motorcycle, I’d get a motorcycle. Suzanne couldn’t stop me, no matter how much she’d worry about my safety. I don’t need her permission to buy one, but I do factor in her feelings about the prospect of my riding around in civilization on a motorcycle. Suzanne is my ride-or-die, and I take it seriously that she’d prefer I ride inside a vehicle as opposed to on top of one. Besides, when we met in the early 80’s, I already had a motorcycle. She had no problem with my riding my red Kawasaki all over Utah back then. And I do not recall her ever saying NO to me when I said, “Hop on back and let’s go!” I guess I could say I’ve been there, and I’ve done that.

Of course, I owned a motorcycle at a time in our lives when we had no significant responsibilities on the planet. We had no pets. We didn’t own a house. Our careers had barely begun. There was no Rowan yet either. We could easily take risks because we didn’t really see them as risks. We were so young that we still felt naively invincible. Danger was theoretical: it didn’t seem like a realistic possibility. At this stage of our lives, we both have people, critters, and careers that depend on us. We also have this improbable “we” we’ve made with each other.

When Suzanne and I were together in the 80’s, we barely knew each other yet, and it is difficult to know the value someone holds for you when you aren’t even aware of your own intrinsic value. But now, after all these decades, we both know exactly what we will lose when one of us is the first to go. I’m not being morbid. I’m being practical. I will never play it so safe that I can’t continue to have amazing adventures, but I’m quite content to be more cautious now with what’s important to me. I know Suzanne and I have constructed something rare with each other, and I want it to endure on this plane—and on the plane that follows—as long as it possibly can, which I hope is forever. I am proudly and passionately protective of Suzanne, and I am also more careful with myself than I used to be. Old things, like bones and long relationships, can sometimes be more brittle than they appear. Rapt attention and continual care are where the lasting strength of weathered things resides. Tenderness is the forgiving muscle that will hold it all together.

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Pretending To Be Miffed

Tie-dye Bow Tie o’ the Day is one of my most prized jumbo pieces in my bigly bow tie collection. It reminds me I was born a hippie—all peace, love, and understanding. However, today I am being a bit perturbed. After years of Suzanne slapping my hands from buying myself a motorcycle (or “donor-cycle” as she refers to them), Suzanne went on an hours-long motorcycle ride yesterday. It was for work, she told me—and it was, in fact, a work activity. But that’s not the point. The point is this: Suzanne got to play on a motorcycle for the day, and all I got was her official event do-rag, which you see here on my head. I admit it’s mostly a fake perturbed-ness I’m harboring against Suzanne’s motorcycle hypocrisy, but I’m going to nurse it for all I can. If I play my wronged cards right, I might be able to leverage permission for a new toy out of Suzanne’s hypocritical motorcycle ride. I do not pretend I see getting Suzanne’s OK for a full-blown motorcycle in my future, but I am now seeing the possibility of a scooter or an electric bike. Or at least a tricycle. 🏍 🚲 🛵 Fair is fair.

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Busy, Busy, Busy

Today is Skitter’s dental appointment at the vet’s. I took these photos as we waited in the vet’s parking lot for a vet tech to come fetch Skitter. Notice how Skitter won’t make eye-contact with me cuz she’s petrified and feeling like I betrayed her by dragging her to this hellish place for the second time in less than a month. I tell her it’s for her own good, but she’s not buying it. It breaks my heart to leave her there all by her lonesome self, but it will be so nice to no longer have to smell the stinky plaque on her wee choppers when I pick her up and she gives me a kiss.

FYI I have included a photo of my latest long-winded t-shirt, in case you’re interested to read it.

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Skitter Chilled Out Bigly

A few months ago, I posted about reconnecting with one of my college pals from way back in the 80’s. Since then, I’ve visited Jane a few times and, so far, we still seem to have plenty to talk about. We seem to be able to make each other think, and we still make each other laugh. Earlier this week, I took Skitter with me to Jane’s for one of our gabfests. Skitter wore her lemons Tie o’ the Day for the occasion.

Now, you know Skitter is afraid of every new person and every new place and every new thing. She shivers and vibrates in fear of each new noun she encounters: she’s skittish. I know Jane has two cats, and I wasn’t sure Skitter could handle being around the critters, so I anticipated I might have to leave her in the car with AC running while I socialized. I thought of all the possible Skitter-skeered outcomes, so I was prepared to improvise. When we arrived, I laid out one of Skitter’s blankets on the floor by the chair I was sitting in, so she would know where her place was in this environment which was foreign to her. However, Skitter was not having any part of staying on her blanket on the floor.

Skitter didn’t vibrate, pulsate, oscillate, or tintinnabulate. Skitter simply and nonchalantly jumped up on the couch, cuddled up to Jane, and stayed by her side the entire visit. Since then, my lower dentures have almost fallen out of my mouth on multiple occasions whenever I contemplate the whole affair—because my jaw is still dropping in amazement about Skitter’s chill behavior at Jane’s. Skitter has never acted comfortable anywhere but in our house, and sometimes she barely acts comfortable here. Skitter jumping up on Jane’s couch and making herself at home was Skitter maturing before my very eyes. I was both shocked and impressed by Skitter’s poise and determination. In fact, the Skit acted as if Jane was her old friend, not mine, and I was the newcomer to the group. It was an unbelievable hours-long event, and Suzanne still doesn’t believe it really happened. Skitter is clearly living proof that old dogs can, in fact, learn new tricks. It was fortunate that Jane was just fine with the mutt-glued-to-her-hip situation Skitter put her in.

FYI The cats ended up not being a factor in Skitter’s adventure during our visit. They stayed away from where we were conversating, for the most part. Skitter saw one of the cats a few times, but she paid it no mind. Maybe they’ll try to interact during a future play-date.

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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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But They Didn’t Play My Fave Song. Again.

Almost three years ago, we bought tickets to see The Lumineers in concert at the Maverik Center. The performance was originally scheduled for August of 2020, but then the pandemic hit and the concert was postponed. And then it was postponed a second time. We held onto our tickets until last night, when the show finally happened and we got to experience the Lumineers right here in Utah. (We had previously seen the band in Nashville, on our last trip before the pandemic speed bump.) The Lumineers song that most speaks to me is “In The Light,” which they didn’t play at either of the two concerts we’ve attended. I can forgive that oversight on the band’s part, because both shows were fantastic in every other way. And another reason I can forgive the Lumineers for not singing “In The Light” is because I fully recognize that I am not the center of this universe—or any other—and my every wish doesn’t need to be fulfilled by musical strangers who don’t even have a clue who I am, in order for me to have a good time at a concert.

We did have one unhappy camper in our crowd last night. The Saddle Purse was with me when we left the parking lot to walk to the Maverik Center, but before we had walked very far, Suzanne and I spied the signs telling us NO BAGS ALLOWED IN THE VENUE. I had to walk the Saddle Purse and Suzanne’s purse back to the car and put them to bed early for the night. The Saddle Purse was crushed to have to miss the concert. We had been building up the event for almost three years, after all. I owe my Saddle Purse, big-time. 👜

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The Business Side O’ Living

We use infrastructure like bridges and roads and water pipes daily, and we usually do it without giving these things a second thought. We just expect these things to work effectively and safely, whenever we need to use them. Of course, infrastructure needs continual planning and vigilant maintenance, which is what allows us to not have to think about it. We’re kind of spoiled like that, as we should be. If we approach a bridge while we are driving, we are generally safe to assume it’s not going to come crashing down if we drive across it. There are people whose job it is to look out for us when it comes to stuff we routinely use. If everybody does their job correctly, things go smoothly and we don’t even notice.

Likewise, there’s plenty of metaphorical infrastructure to plan and take care of as we go about our lives. We have to make plans for “in case” or “when”—as in, “in case one of us has to go to a care center,” or “when one of us dies.” Yes, we spent the afternoon meeting with an attorney to do our estate planning. It’s not a glamorous task, but it is a kind of infrastructure that needs to be set up to make sure your money and material things do what you need them to do, as well as what you want them to do. (We even signed up our dead bodies to go to the University of Utah for research.) I don’t want relatives fighting over who gets my ties and bow ties. And Suzanne doesn’t want anyone arguing over who gets her towering stacks o’ fabric. We certainly don’t want to leave all the decisions for Rowan to manage, so we’ll make the decisions and get them all in writing. If we’ve planned the documents correctly, when we die things will go so smoothly that nobody will even know we’re gone. 🤡 ⚰️ ⚰️