Because I had my mind stuck on Mom a few days ago, Bow Tie o’ the Day woke up Saturday morning and declared we were off to MCR. So we all got in Suzanne’s car and she drove us to the land of Deltabama, where Mom seemed mighty glad to see us.
Skitter did her usual curling up right by Mom, and Mom did her usual constant petting of Skitter. Mom and I did our same old Two Helen’s Telling Stories and Snort-Laughing routine. After a while, Suzanne left us and drove over to see her other Delta mother: Mom’s Crafts. When she came back to MCR, Suzanne showed Mom her new fabric, and then she lotioned Mom’s itchy legs. When it was time to leave, even Skitter wanted to stay with Mom.
It was such a simple day. And it was pretty much the same as every visit we make to Mom at MCR. We even laughed at a lot of the same ol’ family jokes and tales for the thousandth time. I am always amazed at how a day so “the same” and simple can feel like a kind of high Heaven.
Both times I’ve sat down at my desk to write TIE O’ THE DAY posts today, my brain has gone right to Mom. Clearly, I’m missing her bigly. I need to make another day-journey to Deltassippi ASAP. Skitter will certainly tag along. Suzanne will too, I hope.
This photo is from 2015. Again, Mom’s in my old Delta living room– drinking her Pepsi and peering out the window at the neighborhood’s comings-and-goings. It must have been a cold-butt day outside when I snapped this. As always, Mom was setting trends with her lackadaisical, tie-less style. It’s the socks that raise this outfit to a supreme level of Mom-ness fashion.
I can totally see Mom as a commercial fashion designer. She might have to create herself a designer-y name though: Oscar de la Mom-a. Tommy Helenfilger. Gloria VanderHelen. Grandma Klein. Diane Von FurstenHelen. HWNY. Dolce and GabHelen. HUCCI. Helenmut Lang. H. Crew. Heljimmy Choo. Helaxander McQueen. Paco Helbanne. Helentino. Ralph Helen. Yves Saint Helent. One of those could definitely work. If anyone can pull it off, it would be Mom.
Paisley-adorned wood Bow Tie o’ the Day went with us on a Sunday outing for an “infrared massage.” Suzanne’s back had been pitching a fit all week because of her long days at work, so I ferreted around in my out-of-control gift card/coupon folder, and VOILA! Two gift cards for infrared massages popped up.
We had no idea what an infrared massage might be but we scheduled one anyway. As we were driving to our appointment, I said to Suzanne, “You know, it could be something a like a lampless sunlamp.” I was close.
We ended up brrrr-naked and enclosed in something like a long phone booth, in which wall panels put out intense heat. I believe we maxed out at somewhere around 165 degrees, for 40 minutes. It was a Sweat Lodge, but without steam.
We were able to program what our infrared massage was supposed to do for us. We choose the “anti-aging” setting. The heat really did feel great on our aches and pains, but we look just as old as before we spent our time in the Infrared Time Machine.
One thing really messed with my head while we were being heated up. We could program what music we listened to during the massage, and I went with a simple Pandora 80’s Rock station. Folks, I was fully conscious about music in the 80’s. I had a stereo, a Walkman, and an armband radio. I was ALWAYS listening to all kinds of music. I know my 80’s Rock. Pandora presented its version of 80’s Rock as if it was all Whitesnake, Guns N’ Roses, and Scorpions. Over and over and over. I WAS THERE! I know they weren’t the only three rock ‘n’ roll bands playing music during that decade. But Pandora made me doubt my own music memories. I kept thinking I must have been wrong. It must have been the heat.
I took this snazzy Bow Tie o’ the Day for a walk at Walmart last Sunday, which was the day before Labor Day. Suzanne was off with the shopping cart, most likely being mesmerized by office supplies or fabric quarters. Aside from me and Suzanne and this seemingly harmless family, there was almost nobody shopping. I have often been a middle-of-the-night shopper when I can’t sleep, but I don’t think I have ever seen so few consumers consuming there in the afternoon.
Initially, I was gleeful at the thought of having a subdued, barely inhabited shopping outing. Imagine doing your Walmart shopping, without the People of Walmart! But no. Lucky me– I don’t get to enjoy a nice, simple outing of unbridled consumerism. Nope. Why? It’s that nondescript family you see in the otherwise barren aisles of my snapshot. They look pleasant enough, but one of those kids will forever be known as The Centerville Walmart Master o’ Screaming Tantrums.
I know, I know. We’ve all heard the loud tantrums of kids in public. We’ve all felt for the parent whose offspring is having an uncontrollable cow, despite their every attempt to get the child to turn it down a notch. And sometimes we’ve even wanted to spank the parent for not spanking the kid after the first or second or twenty-sixth howl.
But I must declare I have never in my 55 years encountered one of these fits with decibel levels of these olympic heights. Nor have I heard such a regular, near-constant, turmoil. The kid didn’t skip a beat. The kid was a pro. The fact that there were few other shoppers seemed to make his yelping echo vigorously through the building. The sound kept making my hearing aid screech. The kid’s shrieks were literally blood-curdling. I felt like I needed a transfusion by the time we left the store. Even Bow Tie o’ the Day couldn’t get out of there fast enough. So much for a quiet Sabbath.
Suzanne really is in her office doing laborious labor on this Labor Day. She has a bigly project deadline looming at the end of this week, then it’ll be done and over with. But for today, her work project has put a crimp in our Labor Day celebrations. Alas, I am home alone, finding things to do to occupy my bipolar, clash fashion head.
Tiffany grapes design Bow Tie o’ the Day and I decided to spend some of our time reading the newspaper while simultaneously jumping around on the mini trampoline. (You’ll recall I was vacuuming while jumping on the mini tramp last week.) According to VOGUE magazine, the puffy coat I’m wearing in this advertisement is a Tory Burch creation, costing a measly $798. I won’t be buying one for y’all, or for me either. Heck, Suzanne can make me reversible capes for only $30 each. It will require her, however, to go into a kind of labor yet again.
Can you tell I have capes on my mind today? (Hint, hint, Suzanne. Got new capes made?)
In fact, it’s such a lazy Sunday I’m only seeing in black-and-white. Or I’m just watching PERRY MASON, who happens to be showing off our Bow Tie o’ the Day. Perry is normally a tie guy, but he’s at a fancy art gallery party in this episode. Raymond Burr can wear a tux and bow tie to my house any time he’s able. Of course, he’s dead, so I don’t have to worry about what to feed him if he drops in.
I’ve been a huge PERRY MASON fan from about the minute I was born. The black-and-white presentation is part of its charm to me. And the characters! I’d go out with Hamilton Burger just to call him Ham Burger. Paul Drake is the suave-est wearer o’ sport coats I’ve seen on the small screen. And Perry and Della have wocka wocka chemistry going on. I could rave on about the show forever.
I’ve told Suzanne that if I’m ever in a coma she’s supposed to make sure the television is on 24/7 in my hospital room, just in case I can hear it. And the television is to play my fave tv shows constantly until I wake up from my coma or I die. PERRY MASON is first on the list of my approved coma-watching-worthy shows.
I’d round out my coma-TV list with COLUMBO, HILL STREET BLUES, THE CLOSER, MAJOR CRIMES, THE WIRE, HOMICIDE, IN PLAIN SIGHT, MOTIVE, and all the LAW & ORDER’s. And I’m sure I’ll waste plenty more time coming up with more shows for the coma-TV list.
Tie o’ the Day is not only blinding, it’s found nowhere on the planet but in The Tie Room. This green and lavender tie is an original, one-of-a-kind crochet design by Suzanne. She did not come up with the idea to crochet me some ties: I begged her to do it for me, and she crocheted me two. I told her, however, to be done with the assignment, after she had crocheted the second– equally maladjusted– tie. The final products left everything to be desired, which was not Suzanne’s fault. Ties just should not be crocheted.
Suzanne told me right at the beginning of the endeavor that it wouldn’t really work, and I knew it wouldn’t. But Suzanne is so cute when her craft-for-Helen face comes over her. I make sure to convince her to craft for my purposes whenever I can think of a project I happen to want made. She’s a bigly sport about my whims. And I will love the two ugly, Suzanne-crocheted ties forever. But I don’t think even I could love a third one.
Speaking of my whims, Wednesday, August 28th, is National Bow Tie Day. I didn’t start it, but you can darn well bet I celebrate it. I wonder what Skitter is planning to wear for the occasion. Gather your bow ties, people.
Our trip to Arkansas was over a month ago, but I noticed I hadn’t yet used these two AR pix on TIE O’ THE DAY. Here they are, kids. Photo #1: Bow Tie o’ the Day is dotted with buttons, in honor of Suzanne’s sewing and crafting abilities. This photo was taken by the “fireplace” in a Fairfield Bay, AR hotel where we found a restaurant fit for a fancy dinner. I quite like these “fireplaces” as decor, but they are not “real” fireplaces in my opinion. They are groovy-looking electric space heaters, set into a wall. Photo #2: I created Bow Tie o’ the Day out of a magnet and our Arkansas rental car key fob. I never once misplaced the key fob that whole day of sightseeing in the Ozarks.
MOM UPDATE: Mom’s doing well. That woman can rally like no other. Two weeks ago we were almost certain she’d be leaving us to go find Dad at any minute, but she showed us she wasn’t ready for that adventure just yet. In fact, the MCR Facebook page shows that Mom has recently been on MCR field trips to Cracker Barrel in Spanish Fork, and to the Oak City Days parade. Yahoo, Big Helen!
SUZANNE UPDATE: We have no definitive answer as to why Suzanne’s leg decided to swell up a few days ago. Swelling happens. Once it was discovered that blood clots were not the issue, we breathed a sigh o’ relief. And the next day, Suzanne’s leg was magically back to its normal size. We’re stumped.
Suzanne and I are both 55. At this age, we’re not old, but we’re “kinda old.” We’re relatively healthy, although we have the aches, pains, and issues that come with being alive for over half a century. Each ache alone is minor, but the list is 55 years’ long. They add up to a lot of creaking and groaning while moving through a day. Those sounds have become the constant soundtrack to my life. I know I’m not alone in that. I know you know what I’m talking about.
Anyhoo…. Suzanne and I check in with each other about our aging health every day by asking the simple question, “How are you doing today?” We have a kind of trick answer we want to hear from each other. We want the answer we hear to be “fine.” But in our code, “fine” doesn’t mean “fine.” “Fine” means this: “The list of my aches and pains is so long that it would take me half the day to name and explain them, and we both have way too much to do today. But there’s nothing new to add to my list since we last went over it, so there’s nothing new for you to worry about today.”
I got all gussied up for a Friday on the town. Bow Tie o’ the Day was right there with me, ready to start the weekend the minute Suzanne came home from work. And then, I got a text from Suzanne at work, saying “Blah, blah, blah… leg pain… blah, blah, blah… leg is swollen… blah, blah, blah… doc says I should go to the urgent care NOW… blah, blah, blah… could be a blood clot!” So, off I run to the urgent care clinic in Farmington to find Suzanne. When I get there, she’s waiting for me in the lobby, where she explains the clinic can’t do the correct testing on her leg. We immediately amscrayed to the ER at Lakeview Hospital in Bountiful.
We spent the next couple of hours in an ER exam room, where Suzanne’s left leg was x-rayed and ultrasounded, and a bigly insurance deductible was forked over to the hospital. Panic not, my friends! Suzanne’s mysterious leg passed its x-rays and ultrasound. We have no definitive answers about what’s going on in her left leg, but we are relieved to know it’s not an evil blood clot.
We got home from the hospital last night in time to watch all three hours of Live PD. Suzanne reclined all evening in the love seat, with her legs further lifted atop 2 pillows I retrieved from upstairs. I’m certain Suzanne was plenty comfy, since she kept asking me if I would please go pee for her so she wouldn’t have to move. I would do anything for Suzanne. You already know I don’t say “no” to anything she asks of me. However, pottying for her is one task I cannot put on my honey-do list. But I would, if I could.
I need to rant. I’m having a USANA Ampitheatre hangover. Last night was my first time attending a concert at the West Valley City venue, and Suzanne and I both declare it will be our last visit to the place. I was so disappointed in the venue that I went on strike while there, refusing to click any photographs for TIE O’ THE DAY posts. That’s right, I put my phone in my Saddle Purse for the duration of the concert. But here’s a photo of what I wore, in case you want to know. And I know you do.
First, I want to make clear that the band we went to hear, Mumford & Sons, was in fine form. My list o’ complaints has nothing to do with them. Fabulous musicianship. Intelligent lyrics. Point-on showmanship. Yes, Mumford & Sons delivered. USANA? Not so much.
Of course, the standard concert complaint issues were there too. I’m talking about the things that happen at nearly every concert. For example, concerts never begin on time. I wanna tell ’em, “Hey, Performer, this is your job. You chose the time, and I signed up to be here at the designated time. Hold up your end of the performance time commitment.”
Also, to my fellow concertgoers, I wish to say these things about what happens at almost all concerts: “I did not pay 8 billion bucks for a ticket to Mumford & Sons to listen to you sing the wrong lyrics off-key right outside my eardrum.” And “Hey, you in the seat in front of me– thanks for standing up the whole concert, blocking my view of the stage and one of the bigly screens. Why did you pay for a reserved seat, if you were only going to stand in front of it the entire concert?” And to those of you who dance while tipsy, “Stumble over your own feet and your own purse if you really must. Stay away from me and my Saddle Purse.” In summary, I want to yell it out: “I’m no stern sourpuss, but YOU ARE NOT THE BAND I PAID TO SEE. Go ahead, sing ALONG, but don’t sing OVER the band. Stand if you must, but remember there are old folks like me sitting behind you, and we can’t see through you. Do your dance, but not on my toes.”
My specific complaints about USANA begin with the traffic and parking. Let me be brief: At USANA, there is too much traffic, and not enough parking. We thought of offering a WVC resident cash to let us park in their driveway for the evening. By the time we had snaked our way through what seemed like every neighborhood in WVC, and finally got into a USANA parking lot for $20, we had missed the opening band entirely. (Did I say I had paid 8 billion bucks for our tickets?)
And I’m sorry, but the slope of the floor to which USANA’s seats were attached was close-but-no-cigar. It was impossible to see the stage while sitting in the seats, when even a very short person sat properly in their seat directly in front of me in the row ahead. Suzanne and I watched the bigly monitors most of the performance. We also moved to various empty seats twice before finding a “meh” view of the stage.
And then there was the mosquito factor! I’m itching and scratching as I type. No further comment about that topic is needed.
But the worst, most egregious irritant I found on my first and last outing to USANA was the stage design itself. Of course, it’s an outdoor stage. It’s like a cavernous black box, pushed back and up against the night sky. Bigly sky + cavernous black box has the effect of making performers look like HONEY, I SHRUNK THE KIDS characters. The performers appear to be oh-so tiny. I had the sensation of looking through the “wrong” end of the binoculars while trying to spy coyotes from atop the Delta water tower. (Yes, I have been up there. Back in the day.)
Thanks for listening, tbloglodytes. I’m feeling much better now.
