Month: September 2020

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I Miss Mom’s Visits To Our Abode

Bow Tie o’ the Day naps with Mom in 2017, on one of her last sleepovers with us in Centerville. She had been wearing Bow Tie while I was taking post photos of all of us during her visit. She suddenly needed to doze, so I took Bow Tie off her neck and she conked out on the couch immediately. I’m sure Skitter is just out of frame, because when Mom and Skitter are in the same room, Skitter is right at Mom’s side.

This is a dear photo to me because Mom looks so comfortable. This snapshot was taken just a few weeks after Mom broke her hip. The ambulance drove Mom from the Delta hospital to the hospital in Provo, where Suzanne and I were already waiting for her arrival. I was shocked to see Mom in such pain. There she was—with a broken hip and in need of surgery, and she was trying to be her usual chatty, glittery self. She was trying to be upbeat with the nurses, the ambulance crew, and me and Suzanne. But her face had an underlying grimace of pain I had never seen on her sweet face before. And I hope to never see it on her again.

Even through her pain that June night, Mom had us roaring. The nurses, the ambulance crew, and Suzanne and I were clustered around Mom’s gurney in the hall outside her hospital room waiting for the room to be ready for her. A nurse asked Mom if she needed anything. Mom thought for a second or two and said, in her best dead-serious voice, “I’d like a tall glass of morphine, please.” The nurses stood shocked. Suzanne and I laughed immediately, because we know Mom’s gift for humor. And then the nurses realized Mom had not been serious, so we all enjoyed Mom’s floorshow. Mom entertained through her pain, as is her way.

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Y’all Know Exactly What Day It Is

Dot-terrific wood Bow Tie o’ the Day debuts itself on this breezy Pandemic Hairs Thursday. I don’t own curlers and other such hair accessories (and I don’t want to), so my pandemic hairs have to be managed by other means. Most days, I go the Mad Hatter route, which means I go to my Storage Bin o’ Hats and choose whatever hat feels right. And I love my hats. But sometimes, I don’t feel hatty at all, and I have to get creative. I am a writer; therefore, I have scores of funky accessories in my desk drawers. This morning, these heavy duty paper clips came to mind. I have many kinds and colors and sizes of paper clips. They came in handy when it came time to wrestle my head hairs for today’s post—especially the bigliest clip. I think the clips add the proper panache and bling to my dramatic, pandemic hairs, and I’m glad Bow Tie o’ the Day and I thought to use them. Otherwise, I would have had to use my stapler to tame my noggin hairs—with my fancy pink, blue, and yellow staples. That would’ve looked fantabulous, but it would have hurt. A heckuva lot.

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The Chia Hairs Have Been Tabulated

Barry and Mitt have reached the end of their Chia Pandemic Hairs Thursday race. Barry looks about the same as when his Chia hairs were first spread on his head. In fact, his pandemic hairs closely resemble the real hairs of his real-life counterpart. Mitt sprouted some healthy, long Chias for about a week. Now his Chia hairs are wilting rapidly and sticking to his head. I think I’m going to make this political Chia hairs contest a regular event in presidential election years. As for this year’s competition, I declare a draw. Look at these dudes. Ain’t nobody got winning Chia hairs here.

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The Grandma

These photos are from 2008, a few months after Dad died. The adorable baby girl Mom’s holding is Ronni Wright. (You can never have enough Ron Wright’s in my family.) Her big brother, Bosten, is supervising the occasion. Bosten and Ronni are two of Mom’s army of great-grandkids.

For all of my adult life, when I’ve shown up in Delta at the grocery store or the swimming pool or a restaurant, inevitably someone not related to me will ask me, “How’s Grandma doing?” I know exactly who they are asking about. Mom has always treated the friends of her grandkids and great-grandkids like they belong to our family. She’s an extra grandma to them. And I’m sure she knows what kind of cookies each one of them likes best.

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Mom’s Pandemic Birthday Month

Here’s a tieless Mom at 17. Dad’s aiming the camera. I decided TIE O’ THE DAY is going to be heavy on Helen, Sr. this month. She will be 90 on September 26th, but because the world is pandemically challenged this year, we have to forego giving her the bigly community birthday bash she deserves. She would relish a snack-filled party in her honor, with relatives and friends showing up from far and wide—and Delta. Mom’s a party animal. She loves people and their stories. But such a bash is not to be. I have no doubt Millard Care and Rehab will see to it that she is celebrated there. I will try to do her justice here on TIE O’ THE DAY.

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Days Like This

Swashbuckling wood Bow Tie o’ the Day and I are exuberant. We had the weirdest, best day. My day started out normally enough. I looked at what Suzanne was wearing to work, then dug around in the Tie Room for a clean face mask to match what Suzanne was wearing to the office. Suzanne is as matchy as I am not-matchy. After she left, I toiled around the house for an hour, when I was suddenly overcome with complete weariness. I went back to bed and slept for over an hour. I have no idea what brought on that unfightable exhaustion. I do know that Skitter likes it when I take naps, cuz she gets to sleep in the tall bed with me. I don’t like to go back to bed, because I have TIE O’ THE DAY to write and other things to accomplish before I die, and I feel time hurtling away too quickly for my taste.

But the grooviest thing happened after I woke up from my nap to face the day. I felt energized—breathless, in a good way. I was even a bit antsy. I turned off the television—my bipolar head’s constant companion. I spent a few minutes going through the cd’s to find the exact right things to listen to, and to my surprise I gravitated to the first three Sarah MaClachlan cd’s. Yup, right back to the 90’s. I lined them up and cranked them up, and—bigly surprise—I felt like dancing. I do not normally dance around the house, but I felt the groove and danced anyway, both upstairs and downstairs. In fact, I haven’t danced in years. But I felt the undeniable urge to boogie around the premises. Skitter was even amused. She was an attentive audience. It was a workout like I haven’t had in a long time, and it lasted almost two hours. Golly, it was fun. I can’t explain what came over me, but I feel blessed that it did. The music was superb, and I had a blast all by myself. I highly recommend you find your music and get dancing.

FYI Suzanne is forbidden to dance. Ever. She has a klutz problem that leads to scrapes, and bruises, and twisted ankles, and broken furniture when she tries to dance. Fortunately, she knows this about herself and refrains from dancing for the sake of all people, animals, and things in her vicinity. I applaud her for her sacrifice.