Category: wisdom

The photo of Bow Ties o’ the Day is a throwback from Sunday, when we took a drive to WY for brunch. As I’ve mentioned previously, Suzanne’s brother, James, is the owner and chef of Gateway Grille– which is located at The Purple Sage golf course in Evanston. James puts out a magnificent Sunday spread. And yes, I stole all the remaining pastries when we left.

As you can see, Suzanne wasn’t all that interested in being in a photo as we hung around on the deck at the clubhouse. Thus, I only managed to capture the side of her head. Ain’t that a pretty ear?

James managed to make time to get out of the kitchen and sit down with us for a few minutes. During our conversation something came up about “smart” v. “wise.” He said, “A smart person knows a tomato is a fruit. A wise person knows not to put it in a fruit salad.” Sounds right to me.

James lived with me and Suzanne in our first apartment, in SLC in 1985. The apartment was on the top floor of an old house, and was U-shaped. James slept on the floor in an almost-hallway, and we had to step over him to get to the bathroom– which had red walls around the bathtub.

We also had a neighbor named Sadie Cowboy, who had a little girl, but had no teeth. Well, maybe a tooth or two. And a U of U football player whose name I don’t remember lived on the first floor. He took no guff from anyone, and was sort of like our guard dog. Ain’t nobody dared mess with us.

Dad helped me move my large stuff into that apartment when we first moved in. (He helped me move into more than one top-floor apartment in SLC. Sorry, Dad.) He knew I’d be sharing the apartment with a couple of friends, but I guess he assumed it was a couple of gals. When he saw James’ huge shoes sitting on the floor in the apartment, Dad said, “I don’t know if I’m comfortable with you living with a man.” I didn’t have the heart to say to him at that moment, “Between James and Suzanne, James is not the one you should be worrying about, Dad.” We laughed about the incident years later, after his “dunno” got “smart” on the matter, and then his “smart” eventually got “wise.”

Dad absolutely loved Suzanne. They “clicked.” He loved her because she’s Suzanne. And he loved her because I do. And he loved her because she loves me. Simple as that.

I picked up Suzanne for her lunch break today, and I chose houndstooth floppy Bow Tie o’ the Day for the occasion. She was pleased because I kind of matched, with the coupling of Bow Tie and my black, square-collared tank. I apologize that the tank’s gray stripes aren’t visible in this photo. Suzanne likes the clashy fashion I concoct. She also likes that sometimes I match, although we both know that if I’m matchy, it was most likely by accident. I admit my authentic fashion sense was lazy today as far as clash goes. In fact, since my surgery at the end of June, I have matched too often for my taste. I’ve been too exhausted to dress the way I like. But I’m getting my stamina back, so I’m getting my clash back– slowly but surely.

Lately, we’ve spent Suzanne’s lunch time at a park where there is a municipal outdoor swimming pool– complete with water slides. It’s full and loud all summer. At the pool– and everywhere we go really– Suzanne and I have made people-watching almost a sport. We enjoy it immensely. Sometimes we’ll see people who look/act so interesting that we make up stories about their lives, explaining how they became their “interesting” selves. Storytelling at its best.

Anyhoo… There are definitely a host of sad things all around us. An outdoor swimming pool that’s closed for the season is one of those sad things. Hundreds of kids laughing and yelling and splashing and getting along is a wonderful, optimistic thing to see and hear. That much play and joy in one place is a remarkable and uplifting sight. I hope they do winter things that allow them to lose themselves in communal joy.

I have this theory that if we could all take a swim together in a pool, the world’s populations would be less combative. It’s difficult to plan destruction and cruelty when you’re playing in a swimming pool. Just try it.

When you find yourself getting short-tempered about something– or towards someone– take your kid, or grandkid, or any kid you know– to take a dip in the pool with you. I defy you to stay ticked off and impatient. I defy you to not smile for the entire time you are there.

Unless you’re swimming laps. There’s a good chance that swimming laps won’t cause you to smile, no matter how much you enjoy it. I don’t know why, but it’s what I’ve observed. I like to swim laps, and I know I don’t smile while I do it, although I feel uplifted.

Pick one person, any person. Now, for thirty seconds, picture that person in a swimming pool, wearing goggles and arm floaties and swim fins and a nose clip– and floating with a swim noodle. Now doesn’t that make you feel better? Doesn’t that put a goofy smile on your mug? When you’re angry at someone, picture that person in that scenario. That’ll put everything into proper perspective.

It appears I opened up a can of beauty worms when I let Suzanne put makeup on me a few days ago. She somehow suckered me and Bow Tie o’ the Day into letting her slather this facial mask gunk on my face last night. (The bow in my hair is actually my own touch. It’s how I keep my head hairs out of my eyes.) I can attest to the fact that it was fun peeling off the mask after it had dried. I managed to peel it off in one piece, which I am extremely proud of. Was this mask enough to calm Suzanne’s current cosmetology bug? I think not, because she then polished my fingernails with a breathtaking emerald color– except for the nail on my ring finger which is always painted purple, whether my other fingernails are painted or not.

There’s a national anti-domestic violence campaign called Put The Nail In It, meaning to end something once and for all.  Its signature symbol is the purple ring-finger nail. When anyone asks about my nail, it gives me an opportunity to talk to them about the importance of the issue. See, I can be serious. In fact, I’m serious about anything that affects the dignity and safety of human beings. And dogs, cats, etc., as well. I think it’s why we’re here on the planet.

I’ve never understood the question a lot of people have about why God allows suffering. To me, people are the ones who cause suffering, and so the right question is, “Why do WE allow suffering?” We created all the problems on the planet (except natural disasters), so it seems to me that our purpose is to learn how to clean up the messes we’ve made, and then create extraordinary solutions. Love your neighbor. Pray. Vote. Hope. Feed the hungry. Teach literacy. There are infinite ways to solve the chaos. Do whatever positive action you do. You can’t do everything, but you can do some things. It’s our responsibility to do what we can. To do any less than what we can should be unacceptable to us. Doing any less than what we can is what makes and allows suffering.

That’s my sermon, and I’m stickin’ to it.

Church Bow Tie o’ the Day rode with me to Spanish Fork to meet my Sister Who Wishes To Remain Nameless. I picked her up and we cruised to Provo, to Bishop Travis’ ward. (Yes, I drove that sorta bigly trip all by my li’l ol’ self.) Meeting my SWWTRN is always a highlight, cuz it’s the only time I get to spend time with her, since I rarely travel to Delta anymore. Whenever I was in Delta, she and I– and Mom– attended Sacrament Meeting every Sunday. Sitting in a chapel pew not talking with people you love is a pretty good way to aid you in getting a spiritual bump. I highly recommend it. And having a not-talking conversation like that can help fortify the relationship you have with whoever you sit. I call these kinds of pow-wows “not-conversations.”  A not-conversation doesn’t have to happen only in church though. You and whoever you choose to not-conversate with can have a not-conversation anywhere you please. I don’t recommend it as the only type of talking you engage in. If you did that, you would bore each other into wanting to run screaming across the Delta overpass. And you wouldn’t learn much about the person you’re with or what they think. I can tell you from my own experience that Suzanne and I have sometimes had not-conversations during which we both started laughing at the same time. Heck, we probably think the exact same funny things, at the exact same time in our separate heads. Ah, the mystical magic of not-conversations.