Category: Suzanne

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Navel Gazing

So often, what we anticipate our day will look like only slightly resembles what our day turns out to be. That’s the nature of living on a planet with nearly 8 billion other people. We aren’t completely in control of much that occurs beyond our own physical body. What we are always in control of is our behavior in response to the goings-on around us. How we behave is certainly our legacy to others. Our actions—including what we say—are what others will remember of us. Our actions will be the crux of any story someone tells about us. What we ultimately do will far outlast any plans we made or intentions we had.

Every tiny and bigly moment of action matters because someone important to you is always watching your every move: you. You are always a front-row witness to your own actions. If you don’t like what you see when you’re observing yourself as you live your life, you might want to seriously consider changing how you go about your living. If your actions don’t sync up with what you profess to value, you are degrading yourself. Your responsibility to yourself as a human being is to act in ways that glorify who you are. Your job is to act in tune with your singular self. That’s the stuff we want others to remember about us, isn’t it?

What follows is a repeat post from August 2019. Re-enjoy!

FRIDAY NIGHT TESTS

Worst. Dinner. Date. Ever.

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 swollen leg passed its x-rays and ultrasound tests. 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 loveseat, 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.

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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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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. 🤡 ⚰️ ⚰️

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The Saddle Purse Went To A Movie With Us

We hadn’t been out to a movie for quite a while, until yesterday when we saw the documentary, GABBY GIFFORDS WON’T BACK DOWN. You might remember that Giffords—a Congresswoman from Arizona—was the target of an assassination attempt in January of 2011. It happened at a meet-and-greet outside a grocery store, where Giffords was meeting with constituents who wanted to speak to their representative. 6 people were killed that day, and 13 more were wounded. Giffords was shot in the head. Even as some news reports incorrectly claimed she was dead, she fought to stay alive. This documentary is primarily about her complicated recovery, from Day 1 to now. You can see her grit, grief, and humor throughout all the stages of her rehab, even when she could barely communicate. Yes, there are some gun politics in the film, but not much. She is a life-long gun owner, as well as the victim of a mass murderer with a gun, so it makes sense that she has something to say on the subject. We ought to at least listen. But again, the bulk of the film is about her long recovery. She is still partially paralyzed, and it takes Giffords great effort to speak. Singing has seemed to come easier to her than speaking. Her mind is still sharp, but often her brain won’t let her say the words she’s thinking. She has also lost about 50% of her vision in both eyes. And still, she sings! I recommend the movie to anyone who wants to witness an indomitable person right while they’re being indomitable. If you need a pick-me-up, this is it. If you don’t need a pick-me-up, you’ll still be glad you saw it.

BTW We had the theater to ourselves, at least until the movie started. Look closely to see the Saddle Purse hanging around. Suzanne is eating popcorn, and I am wearing my caped Superman Socks o’ the Day. We reclined the entire movie.

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Me? Climb The Delta Water Tower When I Was A Kid? No Comment.

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

[This is a repeat of a post from July 2020. The garbage disposal has been colicky since Sunday, so my day is about to be all plumber-y. It reminded me of this post. ]

Red and white Tie o’ the Day dresses up as the Delta Water Tower, with the aid of our water heater. The red “D” reigns, no matter what town I take off my cowboy boots in.

We’ve lived in our Centerville house eight years. It was new when we moved in. Guess what time it is? Time for the house and whatever came with it to need some little tweaks. Last week, the ice maker in the fridge simply stopped making ice. No smoke, no sputtering, no subtle dying creaks. It made ice, then it didn’t. Enter, the refrigerator repairman. He tinkered around in the guts of the freezer door, but he could find nothing wrong. Exit, the repairman and his fee. He must have done something though, because the ice maker is making ice now. It must have just wanted some attention from someone who understood it. Go figure.

And then there’s the plumbing. When the master bath shower is first turned on, there is a growing rumbling o’ the pipes throughout the house. I was outside on the morning of the 4th of July, and I could hear the pipes grumble when Suzanne got in the shower. The outside world should not have to hear our pipes. Also, the water pressure in the shower is almost zero. Lately when I shower, I feel like I’m standing under a rain cloud that drops rain one raindrop at a time. Dribble, dribble.

So I spent most of Wednesday watching the plumber do whatever he needed to do. A bigly bill later, and the pipes haven’t grumbled again. The water pressure in the shower is now restored. Victory! Almost. There are still a couple of water issues Suzanne’s not satisfied with, so I’ll be hosting the plumber again soon. I am a writer by trade. But I know my real job is to keep Suzanne happy—even with the plumbing.

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The Steve Miller Band Was Right: Time Keeps On Slippin,’ Slippin,’ Slippin’ Into The Future

You know how sometimes you get so wrapped up in whatever you’re doing that you completely lose track of time? Even hat Bow Tie o’ the Day knows about how time can slip away. Well, that’s what was going on with me last week, for the whole week. I kid you not. On Sunday night, I got caught up in watching the Deuel Creek fire break out in the hills just above us. I couldn’t look away: it was hypnotic and treacherous and gorgeous all at the same time. And then, suddenly, it was the 4th of July—with a family gathering and more fireworks in the neighborhood than Skitter could handle, so I spent a significant amount of time calming and comforting the mutt by burying her in her Suzanne-made blankets, and reminding her that she, too, lives in a country where she is free to experience life, liberty, and the pursuit of canine happiness, albeit at the odd cost of enduring eardrum-torturing, foothill-igniting celebratory fireworks a couple of times a year. And SNAP, it was suddenly Suzanne’s birthday on the 7th, which meant I had to be all gift-y and entertain-y—doling out cards and treats and miscellaneous varieties of potato chips to the birthday girl. She wanted to go to El Matador in Bountiful for lunch, so we did. I tried to get Suzanne to pick out a new phone for her birthday, but she was too mesmerized by the potato chips at home, so she hasn’t collected on the phone gift yet.

Now it’s this morning and time for this post. TIE O’ THE DAY is back on track—until the next time I get distracted by something shiny or otherwise interesting. I promised myself when I began TIE O’ THE DAY that actually living my life would always be a priority over posting about it. I apologize—but only sort of—that the sometimes irregularity of my posting can be annoying to regular readers. I do value you. I appreciate that you tune in. However, like you, I am in the midst of living a life that occasionally doesn’t leave me time and head-space to do everything I want to do. As much as I am enamored with creating TIE O’ THE DAY, it is not a have-to-do, top priority kind of venture. But even as I just wrote that sentence— even as I am thinking about it just now, I must admit that I honestly feel more balanced and connected on the days I post. Perhaps, after all these years of writing it, it has become more of a priority than I have heretofore been willing to admit. TIE O’ THE DAY is, in fact, an integral part of the life I’m living. I gotta ponder this and its various implications. 🤔

In this afternoon’s post, I will regale you with my Maverick order final answer, including the part about the Maverick in Santaquin that I played catch-and-release with a few days ago. 🎣

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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.