Month: October 2022

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No, That’s Not Eye Shadow

My polka dot Bow Tie o’ the Day and I are astonished to see my distressed eyelid deepening in color to this extent. I guess I could say I’ve inadvertently discovered a free eye shadow hack, and I could easily do this to my other eyelid—for purposes of symmetry. But my good sense tells me it is a wiser move to stop at a single pretty, purpled eyelid. I shall not purposely attempt to injure my left eyelid the way I accidentally fwhomped my right one.

Here’s the absurdly simple thing I did to myself which gave me a black eye: Early Saturday morning, before it was light outside, I was packing my truck for our drive to Oakley’s funeral. My arms were full of things we needed to take with us to Delta. You know how, when you get a new vehicle, you have to get used to where various controls are located? Well, I guess I needed to get used to how tall and wide the truck’s doors are in the dark. I juggled what I was carrying to load up. I set a few items on the ground to get a free hand, so I could open the truck door. I grabbed the door handle. I lifted the handle and pulled the door open with the extra oomph of joy I felt at finally having my new truck living with me. Apparently, I and my oomph are stronger than I imagined, and the doors to my truck are of significantly larger dimensions than those on my old jalopy truck. As I pulled the door open, I slammed the door’s edge right into my right eye. (Be fair in your judgment of me—it was still dark outside.) My eye socket, fortunately, was stronger than the door, and it protected my eyeball. Above my right eyebrow, you can see a barely-there scratch or two where the door made its impact. The door hit particularly hard—I’m sure because of the Mr. Atlas strength in my writing arm. I did not, however, anticipate that my eyelid would put on a show of color for all to see. Although I could feel the bump I got on my eyebrow all during that day, I didn’t notice the bruise showing at all while we were in Delta. On the way home, we stopped for a potty break in Nephi, and both Suzanne and Rowan told me they could see the beginnings of a bruise. Today, its color has deepened to a pleasant shade of home-bottled grape juice.

It is a crumby thing—especially for a writer—when a groovy-looking visible wound comes with a such a pathetic back story to be told about its true origin. I could have lied about it and made up a much more interesting-but-false tall-tale about how anxiously engaged in a good cause I was when I acquired my eye’s Red Badge o’ Courage. Some days, though, the simple klutzy truth is what comes out of my noggin. 🙄

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Everything Left To Say

Suzanne, Rowan, and I spent most of Saturday in Delta for Oakley’s funeral and burial. We ended our day there with a visit with Mom. Mom had been able to attend the funeral, but was glad to be back home at the care center. (I will write more about our visit with Mom in another post.) In honor of Oakley, I tried to pack as much purple into my wardrobe as I could, including Bow Tie o’ the Day. Even my socks and shoelaces were purple. When I commit, I am true.

I’m taking a deep breath this morning. Oakley was privately and publicly honored over the weekend, and then her body was laid to rest near family. Last week was a constant shock—of loss, and breakdown, and gutting through every moment. I can only speak for how it seemed to me, but it felt like, from one minute to the next, family and friends were alternating between being supportive to each other and being supported by each other. Now, we are supposed to get back to normal. We are supposed to go back to business as usual. But the thing about the idea of “normal” is that there is no such thing. There never was. Things are always changing, always in flux. Movement in time and space is the way all of this works. Change is the constant. Last week, in barren grief, time seemed to stop for our family. But we were the ones standing still. We stood as witnesses to Oakley’s earthly dance, and we applauded her as she entered into the eternal present she now inhabits. Today, we are again tasked with finding our momentum. We are left to choreograph our own dances. We are left to interpret the moves Oakley taught us while she was with us. I will tell you this: If you did not learn something about life’s dancing from our Oakley, it’s only because you didn’t know her.

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Oakley Gets All The Attention At Mom’s 75th Birthday Bash

I was ecstatic to run onto more photos of this event at Mom’s house. It struck me that Oakley’s Grandma Mary is the only person in this photo who remains with us. The late Shirley Peterson is sitting in the stuffed chair. Mom’s best friend, the late Peggy Crane, sits on the blue folding chair, playing with Oakley. Mary supervises.

I forgot I had even taken the second picture. Here, a wobbly Oakley is being escorted across the family room floor by her Uncle Jake. I know she had a unique bond with him. All through her short life, she could count on him to be solid. If I remember correctly, Jake baptized her. In the hospital with her the other night, while we were reconciling ourselves to the fact that Oakley would not live, it fell to Jake to give Oakley an encompassing blessing of release. It provided some semblance of comfort to us all.

Also, in that second photo, we see Peggy and Grant Crane. Grant is also now gone. Whenever Mom was watching the wee Oakley while Mary worked, Oakley had the privilege of accompanying Mom and Peggy on their irreverent daily Pepsi runs. I would bet my bow tie collection, that Oakley talked more than the both of them together, and that’s saying a lot because Mom and Peggy never quit talking when they were out together on a Pepsi run, driving through the wilds of Millard county.

In the third photo, that’s my oldest sister, BT/Mercedes, sitting at the table. She is clearly an early member of Oakley’s fan club. But it’s Mary’s stare that Oakley holds, as it always was. In the hospital when Oakley was born, Mary helped give her her first bath. Always, Mary has been Oakley’s champion and fervent protector.

Our vast family is too small with Oakley not here with us.

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Cartoon Oakley

As a kid, Rowan was always drawing. He carried around a clipboard in case he got an idea for a masterpiece. At some point, he drew cartoon versions of select people. Oakley was one of his subjects. When Rowan first showed me this cartoon drawing, he asked if I knew who it was. Let’s see what the drawing “says”: Goofy? Check. Dancing? Check. Rowdy? Check. Impeccably attired? Check. Bouncy as all get-out? Check. Rowan captured all the defining traits. I knew immediately that it was the famous Oakley Jane Shiner. When I showed the drawing to Suzanne and asked her if she could tell who it was, she didn’t have to ponder who it might be. “It’s Oakley!” Oakley was a party.

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Rowan and Oakley At Our Tumbleweed Ranch

Oakley, Bosten, Rowan, and the Whoopie cushion.
Oakley and Rowan build things.
Rowan and Oakley eat a feast at Mom’s.
Rowan and Oakley graze at Grandma Helen’s.
Oakley checks out Roxy’s fat belly.

Although we lived primarily “up north” until 2017, we also had the house next door to Mom and Dad in Delta. We called it The Desert Beach House. We spent almost every holiday and school break there. Rowan and I spent most of each summer there, and Suzanne would join us for a couple of weeks when work allowed. Suzanne spent most of her time in Delta sleeping and sewing. Rowan spent a lot of his Delta time hanging around with whatever configuration of “the kids” was over at Mom’s. He watched them grow up, even as he grew up himself. They all got along, but as I look back, I think Oakley and Bosten seemed to find themselves trailing Rowan around most often. In the first photo here, you see the three of them in Rowan’s room filling up a Whoopie cushion which they would later place on Mom’s chair on the porch. Mom was a good sport when she sat on on it. She played up her surprise dramatically as she slowly sat down on it, making the fart sounds last an inordinately lengthy time. The kids found ways to slip it under her over and over throughout the day. Mom played along long past her patience with the trick had worn thing. They all enjoyed the Whoopie cushion, but Mom wasn’t upset when Rowan and the kids, for some reason, couldn’t find where I accidentally on purpose lost it for a while.

One day when Oakley was maybe 3 or 4, Rowan and a bunch of the kids had been playing outside between the two yards, when he came into our house and sat down with great exaggeration and accompanying loud sighs of frustration. I asked him what was wrong. He blurted out, “I had to get away!” He continued, “Oakley won’t quit talking! Why does Oakley ask so many questions?” I knew exactly what he meant. But I laughed, because talking incessantly and asking question after question about everything, from morning until night—well, that was a trait Rowan and Oakley shared. Rowan was the talkative pot calling the kettle chatty. I am grateful I had the chance to be the audience for their verbal conversation marathons for so many years.

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Oakley’s First Delta, UT July 4th Parade

Here I am, on Oakley’s inaugural 4th of July, reluctantly handing her off to whoever was the next person clamoring to give her loves and spoil her for a while. Over the years, there have been times I couldn’t remember where I had tucked away this or that photo. But I have always known exactly where my Oakley-and-me-at-the-parade photo is, whatever house I’ve had it in.

If you have ever experienced a July 4th in Delta, you know it feels like practically every person who lives in the vicinity of the town—or once lived there, or was born there, or married someone who was born there, or whose car once broke down there—is uptown at the parade. Prime viewing spots are carefully claimed and staked out with groups of empty chairs, days before the big event. Most people in the community are good to unofficially “grandfather in” certain spots for families who have sat in the same viewing spots for literally generations. If you drive east over the overpass during the days before the 4th, and look out to the other end of Main Street, you’ll see empty chairs lining both sides of the street, from one end of the town to the other. You’ll see what looks like a version of the Parting of the Red Sea: imagine waves and walls of chairs instead of water. It’s a vast canyon of beach chairs, lawn chairs, church folding chairs, piano benches, kitchen chairs, and the occasional recliner that lines the street. On the 4th itself, the chairs are full of revelers early, for the the parade and its accompanying festivities.

About now, y’all are wondering what this description of 4th of July chairs has to do with Oakley. I fully intended to use this post to write about some of the Independence Day hi-jinks I saw her pull over the years, but another blade of grief just hit. I cannot write another word right now. That’s the best answer I can give you. Photos prompt too much feeling in us sometimes. I have to stop.

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The Joie De Oakley

Oakley was all about fun and making sure everyone knew she was having it. Her joy was thunderous. I snapped these two photos at a belated 75th birthday party Mom gave for herself at her house. Oakley and her cousin, Brix, stole most of the attention that day, and Mom thought having them be the entertainment was just about the best birthday gift she could imagine. I love that Oakley’s toddler happiness is inescapable in these pix, and I am newly moved by the photo of her with two of her most beloved protectors: her Grandma Mary and Mom. She admired and adored them both. The feeling was forever mutual. TIE O’ THE DAY honors all three of these incredible women, during this sad time.

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When Oakley Was A Wee Sprite

Here are some photos of a small Oakley, in my Delta living room. Her Frida Kahlo eyebrows were already coming in strong. Those rubber balls she just had to have hit the living room walls more times than I can count that day. Seriously, that girl could throw with gusto!

Whenever a new Delta grandniece or grandnephew was born into the family while I still had the house next door to Mom’s in Delta, after holding each of the babies for the first time, a word would come to me about a trait I suspected they harbored somewhere in the core of their spirit. It felt kind of like I got a vibe from the baby’s soul. I have kept a list of each child’s word, but I have not shared them with anyone, not even the kids themselves. The word that came to my mind as I held Oakley Jane Shiner in my arms for the first time was this: WHIP-SMART. As you who knew Oak must already know, my vibe was accurate. Oakley had a keen mind. Always. I think she was working on how to make her whip-smart brain show us something wild and original. It’s a pity we won’t see what brilliance she could brew up for us to see.

Oakley’s funeral will be held at the Delta 1st Ward on Saturday, October 8, at 11 a.m.. Viewings will be held Friday, 5:30 to 7:30 p.m. at the Nickle Mortuary; and at the Delta 1st Ward Saturday, 9:30 to 10:40 a.m., prior to the service.

If you feel inclined to donate funds to assist with Oakley’s funeral and hospital bills, there is an account in her name, Oakley Shiner, at any branch of Zion’s Bank.

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And Flights Of Angels Sing Thee To Thy Rest

TIE O’ THE DAY is in mourning over the loss of my grandniece, Oakley Jane Shiner. She would have been 18 next month, on November 4th. For those of y’all who might not already know, Oakley was a passenger in a horrible car crash in Delta on Saturday. She was first taken to Delta Community Hospital, and then she was taken by Life Flight to Utah Valley Hospital—where she died later that night. She was surrounded by her family, and we adored her. Suzanne and I were blessed to be there. Oakley went peacefully, except for the sound of our crying and our hearts breaking inside her hospital room. Her siblings, Calab and Kenna were with her through the last moments of her life. They will miss their big sister immensely. Oakley’s promising life had barely begun. It would have been a blast to see all the places she would have taken herself in life. We love you, Oakley. And we missed you the moment you left us. By the way, your make-up looked spiffy right up to the end.

I want to do a few more posts about Oakley throughout this week. I found some pictures of Oakley and my Rowan that I wish to share. Also, a secure fund is being set up this morning at one of the local banks. All funds donated to this account will go directly to pay funeral costs and hospital bills. Nobody will be able to access the money for any other purpose. I’m sure I will be able to give you the specifics of where to donate to this fund in my afternoon post today. Oakley’s funeral arrangements have not yet been finalized, and I hope I can give you that information this afternoon, as well. Thank you for the condolences you have already shared with me and the rest of Oakley’s family.

In Oakley’s name, hug your kids and grandkids a little tighter today. 💔💔