Month: January 2023

I am not a loser of material things. I know the location of almost everything I own. Always have, always will. I also know where Suzanne’s things are. I don’t particularly try to know where her earthly goods are. I just seem to notice where she puts things down. When Rowan was growing up, we had a household mantra: “If you can’t find something, what’s the prudent thing to do? Ask Helen.” It was always amusing for me to watch Suzanne and Rowan try to hunt down their own possessions without giving in to the advice of our family mantra. The longer they searched for something on their own, the more their pride tightened around them. They were doggedly determined to not ask me where some sought-after object was to be found: they were dang well going to find whatever it was on their own, without my assistance. I observed it, every time it happened, with a quiet smirk on my face. I went about my business and waited. And then it would happen: I would hear a loud sigh, then a frustrated swear word would fill the house. Suzanne or Rowan would call my name in woeful desperation. “Helen, do you know where my whatever-was-lost is?” I would turn to see a needlessly shattered and defeated puddle of a human being I loved, finally humanly humbled enough to ask little old me for help in locating what usually turned out to be simple things around our house: items like a certain watch, a pair of pliers, a backpack, a set of keys, the 2012 tax records, a can opener, the stepladder, a shoe horn, etc.

I am not generally one who loses stuff. However, I am in fact a dropper of stuff. Although I have been a well coordinated and physically fit woman for most of my life, in the past few years I have gradually become a full-fledged dropper of small (mostly) things. And drop things, I do. I have developed slight tremors in my hands, and I have lost some feeling in my hands’ nerves. I can’t always feel if my grip on something is tight enough to hold it securely. So with hands that shake and may or may not be holding an object securely, I am a routine dropper o’ stuff like my keys, my fork, my pen, my meds, my drink, my bow tie. As an added bonus, sometimes the problem goes beyond merely dropping the object and moves into the realm of actually tossing it. I don’t knowingly throw anything that happens to escape my intended grasp. I’ll be hit by a spasm which will kind of swiftly, but unintentionally, toss the object a few feet away from my body. When this involuntary tossing happens, it is as if I’m being nice to the object and helping it in its sudden journey to the floor. It feels very strange to me, and I have no doubt it’s just another mostly harmless side effect that comes with aging. There’s a med for my wayward hands, which I take daily. It has significantly decreased my droppin’-‘n’-tossin’ the myriad of tiny objects I attempt to grasp.

The above should help explain the Tie o’ the Day I’m wearing in my selfie. Unlike my parents, who lost their television remotes on a near-daily basis in their old age, I regularly drop/toss my media remotes—so much so that our primary remote is now held together with a series of strategically placed rubber bands. Caught in my own pride trap, I refuse to buy a new remote. I and my numb hand tremors will not be defeated by a chunk of buttons and plastic. I will keep on inadvertently dropping my remote, and I will continue to patch it back together with rubber bands. I will not ask anyone for help. I can do it myself. That’ll show ’em!

I’ve been putting away some of my holiday baubles this afternoon. The famed Muppets character, Beaker—seen here on his very own Christmas tree ornament—wears today’s Tie o’ the Day for us. When I press the ornament’s button, Beaker unintelligibly beep-sings his version of “Jesu, Joy Of Man’s Desiring.” I wish you could hear his unique rendition of the triumphant song. Bach would be proud. Bach would also snort-laugh.

You’ve probably seen my “Old Man” and “Ralphie” bobble heads in previous years’ TIE O’ THE DAY posts. They never cease to amuse, and I’m not sure I’ll even box them up for storage this year. Heavens, we already keep the 2 leg lamps, 3 Chuck Brown trees, and our Day of the Dead nativity scene on display all year long anyway: I see no harm in showing off the bobble heads 24/7, 365.

Y’all may not have noticed my precious snow globe previously. It’s been part of my yuletide decor for decades. I honestly can’t believe it’s still with my stuff after all this time. It is one of my treasured-est treasures. I bought it at a 1987 Salt Lake Acting Company performance of SATURDAY’S VOYEUR, back when the production was an annual holiday offering in SLC. After 34 years, not only does the snow still fall on the globe’s scene when it is shaken, but the globe’s blue sky literally falls with it. Elthora, the undisputed star of the long-running stage production, remains sturdy in her rightful position. Elthora is still front-and-center in the globe’s scene, sporting the beehivest beehive hairdo, which itself is topped off with her Temple-Square-at-Christmas crown—complete with Santa and his sleigh, continuously circling the model temple’s spires. I’m still speechless to see it!

You know, when I take a detailed look around our house at the miscellany I’ve accumulated over the course of my life, it is plain to see: I live in what amounts to a museum of books, my ties and bow ties, Suzanne’s fabric, and sundry oddities for all occasions—which we’ve joyously curated and pack-ratted. Our inventory is priceless in our personal economy. On the free market, the whole of our lives’ material haul is probably not worth much. We don’t care. We are not just rich: we are filthy wealthy with what matters most.