Category: The Purse

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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 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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Is This A Dandy Shirt, Or What?!

Howdy! My Bow Tie o’ the Day is the one Collette gave me at brunch on Saturday. It adds a perfectly suave effect here. I call this fashion style “suave rodeo” style. If you ever happen to run across a shirt this incredibly cool, buy it. That’s an order. You won’t regret it. It doesn’t matter that the shirt sellers didn’t have one in my size—I still knew I had to buy it. Perhaps one day I’ll grow into it. It doesn’t really matter to me, though: I am going to wear this shirt way too often, just to see others be jealous of me that I own it and they don’t. I am going to have scads of fun wearing it, no matter how it fits me. This shirt specimen is inexplicably enchanting, in a vintage sort of way. It is Roy Rogers-esque in its aura.

I think I had a lunchbox (w/thermos) in the early 70’s which looked similar to this shirt. I remember carrying it around on my banana-seat, one-speed Schwinn— as I rode in and out of dirt ditches, between alfalfa farms and bee yards, and across the dangerously bustling city streets of Delta, UT in the hippie 70’s. I wish I had saved that lunchbox. It’s a good thing I bought the shirt, so it can remind me of my hokey lunchbox whenever I wear it. I do have my Saddle Purse and cowboy boots that can go with my cowboy-covered shirt. Now, I think I’m goin’ on the hunt for a new cap-gun and holster to wear with it. I’ll also need a new cowboy hat, some spurs, chaps, a stick horse, a wad of chewin’ tabacky, and a sidekick to do all the real work for me. Oh, and I must not forget: I need a leather, string-tied bag, to hold all the gold nuggets I find waiting for me in the closest creek. Yup, I think that’s pretty much everything it takes to be an authentic cowboy. 🤠

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Paintin’ The Town

We had a theatrical night on the town last week when we went to see HAMILTON again. Before the show, we ate a luscious dinner at Tin Angel, which is located inside the Eccles Theater building. Suzanne ordered wild salmon, while I got the encrusted braised spare ribs. For dessert, we split a slice of spiced pumpkin roll filled with cream cheese frosting, and covered in caramel and chocolate. Yes, it was yummy.

Y’all might recall that we had first seen HAMILTON a couple of years ago, after which I gave my review in a TIE O’ THE DAY post. My review was simply this: “It was a little too sing-y and dance-y for my taste.” The truth is, that’s my review for almost all musicals. I can appreciate a well-done musical production, but I’m partial to plain old words. I prefer the spoken word on the stage. Having said that, I will admit that I enjoyed HAMILTON tremendously this time around. The first time I saw it, my brain was filled with all the excessive hype about it. This time, I knew what I was in for, and I could simply watch without any expectations. HAMILTON was still too sing-y and dance-y for my taste, but as I sat in my seat and let the show just wash over me, I was enthralled. I had a good time.

Because I am who I am, Suzanne must always have her antenna up for any sign of my misbehavior. The Eccles Theater ushers carried little “please, wear your mask” hand-held signs. If an audience member were to remove their mask during the production, an usher was supposed to quietly walk up to the maskless person and politely wave the sign in front of their face. I wanted so badly to take a photo of it happening to someone, but everyone in the audience was good and kept their masks on. As the night wore on, Suzanne could feel me wanting nothing more than to lower my mask, for the sole purpose of having an usher shove a sign in my face, so I could snap a photo of it happening. I don’t know exactly how she knows when I’m plotting to be bad, but she does. She gave me “the look,” and I immediately abandoned any plans I had for misbehaving with my face mask.

Face Mask o’ the Evening was covered in X-mas holiday mutts. I exercised my right to be thematically appropriate by wearing a jumbo Bow Tie o’ the Day depicting The United States Constitution. It was a spot-on choice for HAMILTON. Oddly, not one person who saw me at the theater mentioned my Constitutional bow tie. Nor did they comment on the funeral potatoes 2002 Olympic pin I wore in my lapel. But do you know what part of my attire I was explicitly complimented on by a number of folks throughout the evening? It was my green Nike golf hat! One woman told me the hat looks good on me and that I wear it well—whatever that means. Yeah, my thirty-year-old, seen-in-post-photos-all-the-time hat got more compliments than my incredibly cool and infrequently worn U.S. Constitution Bow Tie got. And while at HAMILTON, to boot! Weird.

I enjoyed HAMILTON more the second time around.
My lapel pin is a 2002 Olympic pin depicting funeral potatoes.
At Tin Angel, I had the braised short ribs in a pastry, atop mashed potatoes.
Suzanne patiently waits for her wine to show up.
My over-tired Saddle Purse fell asleep before the production had even begun.
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Donate, Donate, Donate

It was that time of year again—time for the Davis Education Foundation’s Gala, with its accompanying silent auction. This year we were treated to dinner and a screening of the movie, A Quiet Place II. This annual event is better known in our house as The Night We Spend Too Much Money On Acquiring Too Many Completely Unnecessary Things. My excuse for bidding with a vengeance is always the same: It’s for a good cause. I then spend the next year making a gallant effort to use at least some of the items I brought home from the event, so I can feel better about all the spending I’ll surely do at next year’s annual fundraiser.

And what did we walk away with from the 2021 auction after we emptied our purses? (Yes, I took the Saddle Purse to the shindig.) We ended up with a funky blue chair we don’t need, a portable grill we don’t need, a fluffy green chair I can’t wait to deliver to Gracie, and a 6 ft-long fuchsia metal cabinet which nobody on earth needs. I do love the color, but I have no idea what I’ll use it for beyond storage. It really is for a good cause, though. 💸

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What’s Up, Doc?

I decided my Big Willie’s Plumbing Repair t-shirt was appropriate to wear to my appointment with my innard doctor at Huntsman today. I threw in a nautical-themed wood Bow Tie o’ the Day to encourage the “smooth sailing ahead” vibe. My doctor appreciated my choices.

Suzanne had to work, so I took the Saddle Purse with me as my official hospital escort. As you can see, Saddle Purse doesn’t always obey the rules we mere mortals do. As I sat in the waiting area to be called to the exam room, Saddle Purse just had to strike up a protest against the tyranny of scientific facts by flagrantly sitting in the restricted chair beside me. I felt kinda bad for my rebel pal, the Saddle Purse, because no one took offense at its blatant civil disobedience. There ensued neither yelling nor scuffling at the Saddle Purse’s public defiance. A few passers-by pointed directly at the Saddle Purse and told me it was “so cute.” It’s mighty difficult to create a newsworthy brouhaha when we, the people, are slinging compliments at a full-fledged protester. There’s a lesson in that for us all if we will pay attention, I am sure. Just sayin’.

The actual appointment with my Cranky Hanky Panky surgeon went pretty much as I had imagined it would. My doctor read the organs in my abdomen like they were written in Braille. He did not particularly like what he read when he poked the area of my pancreas. He especially didn’t like that I nearly jumped off the exam table in a shot of pain when he poked my Cranky Hanky Panky point-blank. Still, my doctor and I agreed to not worry about my teensy, wayward organ until we know anything specific about its current state of being. I told him we might as well assign all the worrying to Suzanne, since nobody’s gonna be able to stop her from from doing it anyway. But there’s certainly no need for the rest of us to suffer needlessly.

After my chat with the doctor, I gave what felt like a fishing pond full of my blood for lab tests today. The first available CT scan I could schedule is in mid-March, so I have plenty of time to study for that test. And then the first available appointment I could schedule with my doctor to discuss my various test results is in April. That’s gonna make for a long month of uncertainty. I resolve to be patient and hopeful, while still allowing myself occasional fits of childish impatience and mortal fear. Fun times ahead, boys and girls! And, as always, y’all are free to join me for the entire tour.

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Rearing A Purse Is Nothing But Drama

As you likely know, I have owned one—and only one—purse in my long, long, long, really long life. I am not a purse chick. However, when I saw The Saddle Purse in a shop at the airport, I had to adopt it. The chief selling points of the purse were its teensy stirrups and its teensy saddle bag. I have had The Saddle Purse just over a year at this point. Because of the magnificent item, I have become a tad bit purse-y, I must admit.

With the pandemic call to stay at home when possible these last few months, me and mine have done just that. Staying home has been hardest for The Saddle Purse and some of the drinking Ties o’ the Day. They have sat idly by, in a kind of hibernation their party selves aren’t really suited to. I am always aware of my stewardships: I tend to my fashion items with great diligence. I know they’ve been feeling wonky lately. I had planned to spend some quality time with The Saddle Purse and the drinking ties this morning after Suzanne drove off to Ogden to her Champagne Garden Club, but when she was finally gone, I couldn’t find hide nor hair of The Saddle Purse or the drinking ties.

I searched the neckwear crowds of The Tie Room. I searched under the dust in my car and truck. I was just about to call the Centerville police to report The Saddle Purse and party drink ties as having been burgled, when I decided to check the bedroom deck. Lo, and behold! A drunken bash was going on, the likes of which we haven’t seen in this house since ever. Even the wine bottle label had a bow tie on it!

Oh, the fun debauchery The Saddle Purse had created. I have no doubt whatsoever that The Saddle Purse was in charge of this inebriation insurrection. The ties were mesmerized and manipulated by the purse, like we all are. Seriously, if The Saddle Purse asked you to steal some hooch from the fridge and meet up at the bedroom deck without telling the boss of the house, you’d do it. And I wouldn’t blame you for doing it, cuz I completely understand the hold The Saddle Purse has on people. I hope The Saddle Purse doesn’t find where I stored the capes.

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Gracie Put On A Show

I threw on my ELF ON THE SHELF Bow Tie o’ the Day and headed to Bishop Travis’ and Bishopette Collette’s abode on the way to their ward Christmas program yesterday. Let me just say this: I saw many shades of Grace Anne I had not seen before. And let me add that the wee sprite was constipated.

Until yesterday, I had never even heard Gracie cry. I heard her cry more than once yesterday, and her Sacrament Meeting cries made me hark back to the days of designated cry rooms. Church architectural designs change. But, in my opinion, the need for cry rooms in churches is for time and all eternity.

At church, Gracie wasn’t content in the lap of any of the five adults in our group. She could not settle down and just hang, as is her usual attitude. When I’ve been around her previously, she has been chill, chill, and chill again. However, yesterday, she was acting her age, both at home and at church. Constipation can do that when you’ve only been on the planet for 7 months. Or 55 years.

The absolute best photo o’ the day of Grace is the one I couldn’t snap. During one of my turns trying to mellow out Gracie at church, I noticed she was the perfect size to sit on the saddle of my Saddle Purse, which I had with me. I sat her on the saddle, and— with the bows on her shoes— it was the perfect-est scene for a post picture. I knew I wouldn’t see Gracie after church, so if I wanted to take the picture, I would have to take it then and there. She might be too bigly to sit on the Saddle Purse next time I see her.

I cannot express to you how difficult it was for me to resist taking the best. photo. ever. for TIE O’ THE DAY. But it was during Sacrament Meeting, so I figured the takin’ o’ pictures wasn’t quite right. I just lifted Gracie off my Saddle Purse and onto my lap. I sat there in the chapel, wishing for a few minutes that I wasn’t a respectful person, so I could take pix.

And then Gracie squirmed around and cried out. In fact, she screamed her cries, and Bishopette Collette had to take her out of the chapel. It was like Gracie was trying to be her own evil twin. She was still the cutest baby in the world.

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A Scamp On The Loose

When we were at the Albuquerque airport, waiting to board the plane for our flight home, Candy Corn Bow Tie On A Shelf o’ the Day kept me hopping. (It’s a good thing I’m a Delta Rabbit and am skilled at hopping.) Bow Tie was here, there, and everywhere. It refused to sit still and read a book or otherwise relax while waiting for our flight time.

The airport happened to be hosting a display of prize-winning lowriders. I was lucky to nab Bow Tie before it leaped into this incredibly modified white Impala. And then, suddenly, Bow Tie took $20 out of my pocket and bought lottery tickets to share with us. We won a whole $2, which means I only lost $18 on Bow Tie’s attempt for us to become wealthy.

I think Candy Corn Bow Tie On A Shelf o’ the Day’s fave thing to do at the ABQ airport was play cowbow tie on the saddle we found at the front of an airport restaurant. But this episode made me very sad because Bow Tie’s saddle adventure caused me to deeply miss My Saddle Purse, which I don’t bring with me on my bigly air travels— due to space considerations. I near ’bout wept with purse-sickness.

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Singin’ In The Rain

A bunch of months ago, I managed to snag us a couple of tickets to a concert by THE NATIONAL that was somehow sold out before the tickets even went on sale, which meant the $20 tickets were selling for an exponentially pricey sum. I pried my frugal wallet open. We put the date in our calendars. And then we waited for the bigly day. The bigly day was yesterday, but Suzanne had to work to finish a project and couldn’t get away for an evening. I was going to the concert solo.

I thought of asking somebody to go with me. But I didn’t ask anyone. Secretly, I held out hope that at the last minute, Suzanne would be able to show up. I knew she wouldn’t, but my hope is stubborn. Outside the venue, I faced the facts. I finally asked if anybody needed a ticket. Ding, ding, ding. A winner emerged. Bye-bye, pricey ticket. Bye-bye, stubborn hope that Suzanne shows up.

Yup, it was just me and The Saddle Purse at the outdoor concert. Well, er, me and The Saddle Purse and around 9,000 other people. At the Ogden Amphitheater, there is bench seating for 2000 souls. There’s grass and standing room for about 7000 souls. No assigned seating. General Admission, folks. Bench seating, full. Bleacher seating, full. Grass, full. Bathrooms, full. You’d think that finding one seat for a person with no butt would be an easy feat. Nope. But The Saddle Purse and I finally wedged ourselves into a slice of a bleacher seat. (I could have shown up hours before the concert to stake out the highest seat, but ain’t nobody got time for that!)

The concert was a smash, even in the brief rain which fell. There was sort of a glitch in my experience though. I shall remember THE NATIONAL concert in Ogden forever. I’ll remember it because it was stupendous. And, more interestingly, I’ll remember it because it was the one and only concert I’ve ever attended without once seeing the band. Everybody in the audience stood for the duration of the concert. I’m short. That tells you all you need to know. You can’t fight height.

And still, I give the concert a thumbs-up. That “thumbs-up” means a lot, considering I saw no trace of the band. For all I know, the whole event was an elaborate hoax– a joke on me. The sound system might have been spinning music on vinyl, with no band there at all. I don’t care. I had a fantastic time.