Month: December 2018

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Dad’s Off Playing With His Dogs In Heaven

Santa-hatted canines abound, covering Bow Tie o’ the Day and Ties o’ the Day. Dad was not just a bee guy. He was not just a holder of any nearby baby. My late dad was also a dog man.

Especially after Dad semi-retired, he was always seen with a mutt companion riding in the back of his truck. He was partial to Labrador Retrievers, like the one here wrapped up in a string of Christmas lights. This Golden Lab resembles the last few dogs Dad had in his life. He had only one dog at a time, but somehow the dogs all looked exactly alike.

Seriously, Dad’s dogs didn’t look alike in the sense of being of the same breed. Nope. They just all looked alike. Exactly alike.  And I mean, exactly. Dad inadvertently made it even more complicated for us to keep the dogs straight in our memories because he named his dogs the same names. If the dog was a female, he named it Becky. If it was a male, he named it Bert. I guess by the time Dad was choosing the dogs of his later years, he didn’t want to be bothered to remember new names. I do think he’s the only person who truly knew the separate souls of each of his clone-like mutts.

I’m glad Dad knew I was a baby, and not a puppy, when I was born. He would have named me Becky. Instead, he named me Helen Eileen (see that story in an earlier post). I suppose you could say I was kind of Dad’s puppy for the first six months of my life, though. Mom went through Hell giving birth to me and she was not well enough to mother me for a few months, so my dad was also my mom. (The original MR. MOM?)

My sisters helped take care of me. My grandparents helped. But mostly, I was in Dad’s arms. As I understand it, I spent a lot of time cooing and crying and napping in his bee truck while he worked in the bee yards– from Richfield to St. George to Payson to Heber and back to Delta again.

To hear Mom tell it, Dad was so concerned about her health, and he treated her with such tenderness that he wouldn’t even allow her to lift a finger to change my diaper for the first six months of my life. Now that’s probably a bigly bit of an exaggeration. It’s likely a tall tale. But Dad was tall, and many tales have been told about him. He was mythical in his own way, imperfections and all. Dad was not perfect, but he was perfectly Dad. In his way, he was a true myth I know by heart.

HOLIDAY TIE TALLY: 31 Bow ties. 82 Neckties.

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My Dad, King O’ All Deer Hunters!

Here’s a photo of a handsome tieless chap, along with The Three Wise-Deer o’ Ties o’ the Day. (Try saying that three times quickly.) Each tie deer has chosen to show its individuality with its own Christmas flair: a bow tie, or a red nose, or a wreath. Yup, that’s my dad as a boy, but he never killed a deer if it was wearing a holiday fashion accent.

Eleven years ago this morning, Ronald Edmond Wright died. He was 77, and he was my Dad. My dad. He wasn’t “Father,” “Daddy,” “Pop,” or “Pa.” He’s “Dad.” In this photo, he’s probably around 12, and he’s standing on his family’s front porch. (Yes, this is THE porch. He grew up in this house, which I eventually bought, and which I sold last year.)

Dad was a beekeeper by trade. He was also a brick mason. He was not a man of many words out in the world, but he was a master joke teller anywhere. The same jokes, over and over. But they were hilarious every time. He could tell compelling stories when he wanted to. Of course, he was a talker with us.

Dad was also a sly and energetic coyote hunter. He hunted every critter you can hunt, but nothing thrilled him as much as hunting coyotes. He woke before dawn, and EVERY morning he rode around the county on his perpetual coyote hunt.

When I was thinking of what to write about Dad in this post, I decided on a couple of incidents that most people probably have never heard about. Dad was quiet about them. Dad was not a braggart. When he told me the stories, I was amazed by his quiet decency and grace. He could make a point someone needed to learn, without exposing them to their friends and family.

[Since the place he lived his life, Delta, is a small town, I will be vague about details, and I will not mention names. In order to protect the guilty.]

Story #1. One night, Dad saw a guy steal a piece of his equipment from the property behind our house. It was a bigly piece of equipment that had to be loaded onto a trailer to be moved. Dad let it happen, to avoid us seeing a confrontation in our yard.

Everybody knows everybody in Delta, so Dad knew the guy. Therefore, Dad knew where his equipment would end up. The next day, when he knew the dude would be where the equipment was, Dad drove out and stole it back right in front of the guy, without saying one word to him. The guy just watched as Dad drove away with his rightful property. The cops weren’t called, but justice was served. The guy felt properly shitty about what he’d done. No need for an arrest. Dad humbled the man, but not in public or in front of his family. The point was made. The incident was put aside. Dad and the guy stayed friends.

Story #2. Dad noticed some of his hay was missing, and it kept going missing. (Poor Dad. Everybody stole from him.) Dad kept a closer eye on the hay bales and soon saw the culprit in action. Again, in a small town you know everybody, so Dad knew the dude. Dad knew the guy had a big family and a crappy job. On the side, the guy used his horses to do some other work, to bring more in money for his family. Because of that, the man needed to keep his horses, even though he couldn’t always afford to feed them. Dad realized why the guy had stolen the hay: need and pride.

Again, Dad didn’t call the cops. Dad didn’t embarrass the guy in front of his family or in public. But Dad wouldn’t let the guy keep stealing hay from him. Ain’t nobody gonna steal from Ron Wright. Nope. So Dad threw a couple of bales of hay in his truck, drove to the guy’s horse corral, and told the guy he thought the guy might need some hay for his horses. Dad said nothing about the stolen hay, got back in his truck, and drove away. And then Dad continued to drop off a bale of hay occasionally at the guy’s corral. Point made. And Dad reformed a thief.

Wise moves, Dad. [More Dad stuff next post.]

HOLIDAY TIE TALLY: 30 Bow ties. 80 Neckties.

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If A Christmas Tree Fell On A Beach…

A trio o’ palm tree Ties o’ the Day express my current weather sentiments. I woke up to 4 inches of snow this morning and I immediately yearned to head south to beachier climes. This winter has been relatively warm and considerably free of snow and ice so far. Its mildness has spoiled me. It’s been downright unseasonable, which suits me just fine.

Honestly, the first thing I thought when I spied the thick layer of snow on the lawn was POOR SKITTER. Her pencil-thin legs will have to walk in the burr-cold snow. At least she has a coat and hat. But what if her butt hits the freezing snow while she’s trying to pee? And what if it’s super-freezing enough that her butt sticks to the packed snow– like tongue-to-flagpole in A CHRISTMAS STORY? That would be horrible for Skitter and her butt. Peeing in the winter would be one more thing she is afraid of.

And what was the second thing I thought while looking at the white yard? I thought: I am so happy that we live in a development with a Home Owners Association in charge of dealing with our snow, so we never have to touch a snow shovel or snow blower again. I have shoveled enough snow for myself and for my neighbors wherever I lived over the decades that I am completely content with sitting in the recliner and watching other people do the job. I don’t feel one bit guilty about watching it. But I feel guilty about not feeling guilty.

HOLIDAY TIE TALLY: 30 Bow ties. 77 Neckties.

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Another Holiday. Christmas Is Not Alone.

Menorah-covered Bow Tie o’ the Day and I wish y’all a Happy Hanukkah. The Jewish celebration began last night and continues until the evening of December 10th. In another post, I’ll yack about what Hanukkah is, and I’ll also yack about how the word is spelled a number of ways– all of which are correct. Stay tuned for that spelling lesson.

When Hanukkah began last evening, Suzanne and I happened to be at Walmart, buying cases of Suzanne’s fave flavored water. Bow Tie was right there in the thick of things. I’m pretty sure going to Walmart is not part of official, traditional Hanukkah observances, but Bow Tie was fine with showing off its menorah-ness to Walmart patrons.

Notice Suzanne behind me in the photo with the loaded shopping cart. The cart was heavy, and difficult to push. It’s been my job over the years to do the lifting and toting and pushing of heavy things, but since my surgery, Suzanne has taken it over. I feel bad about this. I hate not doing my jobs, and I especially hate not being able to at least help Suzanne. She should not have to be the lifter and pusher and puller o’ weights. It’s been almost six months since I was sliced open, and I think it’s time for me to take my old lifting job back. But Suzanne is stubborn, and she keeps nixing the idea.

I do move heavy stuff when Suzanne is at work, if it’s in my way. Sometimes I move heavy things that don’t even need to be moved– just to spite her. Of course, they’re not extremely heavy things. Usually. And of course, I move them back to their original spots before she gets home from work, so she doesn’t catch on to my forbidden activity. I suppose it’s a bit passive-aggressive of me, but so what? So there!

Suzanne is as stubborn about not letting me move heavy objects as I am stubborn right now about growing out my hairs. She simply will not quit harping on me about how much she hates my hair and wants me to cut it. I say YES to anything Suzanne wants or wants me to do. But not about this hairs thing. Personally, I think she is not sure how to handle my NO about cutting my hairs. It’s like she’s never before heard NO come out of my mouth. It has discombobulated her.

Come to think of it, it has sort of discombobulated me too. I have never heard NO leave my lips before either, regarding whatever Suzanne wants. To be fair, I haven’t heard the word NO often from Suzanne either. We’re a pair o’ YES’s, eh?

[Thanks so much to those of you who informed me that mutts are allowed in MCR. I made the assumption they weren’t, and I didn’t even ask MCR staff if it was okay to bring Skitter in. I was a dope! Ask, people! Don’t assume. I told Skitter the fantastic news and she is already excited to go back to D-ville to see Mom and be afraid of everything and everybody in MCR.]

HOLIDAY TIE TALLY: 30 Bow ties. 74 Neckties.

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A Speedy Jaunt To D-ville

So, about yesterday’s adventure… We had such a lovely, long day with Mom in Delta I had no time to write and post about it last evening, as I had said I would.

We bawled. We laughed. We chortled. We told a zillion some-what true stories. Millard Care and Rehab (MCR) shook, rocked, rolled, and roared yesterday. Damn! Snowman Bow Tie o’ the Day and Winter Cape o’ the Day had a grand Saturday hangin’ out with Mom. Mom is, as Suzanne says, the Belle of the Ball at MCR. And she is treated as such.

I never alert Mom when I’m headed down to see her, in case something happens to prevent me from showing up when I say I will– so she’s always a bit surprised when we walk in. Yesterday, she immediately started to cry. She kept assuring me and Suzanne that her tears were tears of joy. What a welcome for us! Of course, I know Mom’s joyful tears were all for Suzanne. I’m the third wheel when they’re with each other. (Poor me, eh?) Suzanne gave Mom some winter table runner-y things (I don’t know what they’re called) she had quilted for Mom’s table and chest of drawers. Goal for Suzanne!

Skitter even drove down with us and got to touch her nose to Mom’s hand from outside, through the screen window in Mom’s room.

I am not exaggerating when I tell you that Skitter and Mom took to each other immediately when they first met– despite Skitter’s fear of everything, and despite Mom’s dislike for touching pets. Skitter has always gently pawed at Mom, and Mom has always enjoyed petting Skitter. Skitter has never been afraid of Mom’s touch. Of course, I’m sure it helped that Mom’s hands always smelled of whatever yummy thing she had been cooking.

For our visit with Mom, I wore the latest cape Suzanne created for me. [I’ll display it more completely in a future post.] The cape is dramatic, to say the least. Mom loved both sides of it. In the photo with me and Mom together, Mom is in snuggled in the cape with me. But, of course, you can’t see that very well because my stupid arm is in the way– because I’m such a genius selfie photographer.

One of the coolest features of the cape is that both fabrics are covered in glitter. By the time we were done with all the hugs and kisses of yesterday, Mom had glitter on her clothes and her face, and she sparkled like the sparkler she still is. I love that sparkly broad.

The second picture shows a bit of the other side of my cape, but it primarily shows you the permanent sign in the hall outside Mom’s room, identifying her as the room’s resident. She prizes her bewitching name sign, and will not allow it to be changed even though Halloween is long gone. If nothing else, Mom knows exactly what she’s all about. Clearly, she’s an over-the-top entertainer in her soul.

When I knew Suzanne would be driving down with me, I knew there would be a trip to MOM’S CRAFTS on the schedule. I even ribbed her that her purpose for driving to Delta with me had nothing to do with Mom, but was to go to MOM’S CRAFTS. She ducked out from MCR on her own for that foray. [And thank you, Kyla, for allowing Suzanne to spend our entire Christmas budget on fabric while she was shopping there.] When Suzanne returned to MCR, she gave Mom a peak at her fabric booty, and Mom was in high Heaven checking it out. And then Mom fell all over herself complimenting Suzanne about her mastery of all things sewing and crafting. Suzanne’s sewing head swelled with her own greatness. If Mom had given Suzanne one more compliment, Suzanne’s swelled head would not have fit inside the car. I would have had to tie her to the roof rack for the drive back to Centerville.

I can’t even begin to tell you exactly what we did or what we talked about while playing with Mom, but I think even the MCR staff had a fine time watching and hearing us have a rowdy party. All I can I can say is that the noise and affection never stopped. And the love glittered the entire time.

Like I said about Mom a few paragraphs ago, I love that sparkly old broad.

HOLIDAY TIE TALLY: 29 Bow ties. 74 Neckties.