Tie o’ the Day is speechless at the dapper-ness of my Suzanne-made reversible cape. 😮
This Is Only A Test
Cape o’ the Day meets Tie o’ the Day! Is this my kind of day, or what? Suzanne’s cape factory concocted this cape in a flash yesterday. Remember: This is just the practice cape, made out of the cruddy, yucky, “useless” fabric. But I think Suzanne did a fantastic job. I can’t wait to show this to the neighborhood. And I can’t wait for my real capes, to be made with decent fabric.
Yesterday, only after trying on the cape and giving its design my stamp of approval, I decided to pick out my own fabric for a couple more. Suzanne had an extra-thrifty JOANN’s coupon that was good only from 4-6 PM, so off we went to shop for material during that time. Guess who else was there. Every sewing and crafting aficionado in Davis County was there with us– with their own extra-thrifty, 4-6 PM JOANN’s coupon. And how many cashiers were checking out the customers? One.
Suzanne picked out fabric for one of my capes. I picked out fabric for two more. And then I went to the car to listen to music and nap while Suzanne stood in the line at the register. Forever. I certainly got the better of the whole deal. I got to listen to THE LUMINEERS and BAND OF HORSES. I got to have a nap. Meanwhile, Suzanne grew roots standing in the forever-long line AND had to pay the bill.
Poor Suzanne. She can’t wait until I have my energy and strength back, so she doesn’t have to do all the practical, tedious things by herself– and the big chores too, of course. She says she doesn’t mind that I’m a slug since surgery. But I mind. After the first two weeks following surgery, I’ve felt like I’m a drain on her and everyone else around me. I feel like I’m even a drain on myself. Feeling that way has taught me an unexpected lesson: Being responsible for yourself and your own wants and needs– bigly and small– gives you confidence and courage. I can feel mine slipping. I need to be useful to myself and others in order to get back my inner strength.
And now I’m going to ask Suzanne to cook me a steak and pour me a Diet Coke and find the remote I put down somewhere and find my bow tie slippers and let Skitter out to potty and fill Skitter’s food and water bowls and…  Oh, I feel my self-image worsening as I give her these orders to pamper me.
But I’m still gonna nag her to sew one of my real capes today while I watch General Conference. 😉
Nuts For Bolts
I’m sporting a super-slim Bow Tie o’ the Day this afternoon. Bow Tie and I have got our eyes on Suzanne’s productivity. Here, she’s ironing some material from her Leaning Tower o’ Fabric. She’s prepping to do her first Ultimate SewingBox project. And guess what? For her maiden project, she’s making something for little ol’ me. She’s making me a cape. Finally. I’ve wanted her to make me one for years. I’ve wanted her to make it to help me become The Caped Tie-sader. I think buying her The Ultimate SewingBox guilted her into finally becoming my cape factory.
Sure enough, she found a cape pattern at JOANN’s in St. George. She’s experimenting with it today, so she’s using some useless, old, crusty fabric to make the prototype. We’ve gotta see what design will work, according to my capey desires. Suzanne has to design it perfectly before we spend a small fortune on my chosen cape fabrics. You know I will want more than one cape, if I find this one to my liking.
When I refer to the test cape being made of “useless” fabric, I am saying that any normal person would see that the fabric is “useless.” A normal person would have scrapped these scraps long ago. Suzanne, however, is not normal. There is no piece of fabric on this planet that is “useless” to her.
Oh, I know Suzanne is not the only one. A lot of y’all giggle in anticipation of a trip to a fabric store. Suzanne and some of y’all salivate at the sight of fresh bolts of material being put on the racks at MOM’S CRAFTS. But really, if a scraggly piece of nearly disintegrating material has lived a good, long life in the bottom of a musty drawer that hasn’t been opened in three decades, put it out of its misery. Or make me a cape with it.
[The next time you see me and a tie here, I am confident we will be wearing a cape designed and handmade by Suzanne, The Patient Seamstress and her Ultimate SewingBox.]
So That Is How My First Name Got Real
Double-wood Bow Tie o’ the Day says I should explain to my Delta friends how my first name and my middle name seemingly switched at some point in my life. My full, legal name is Helen Eileen Wright, and until I graduated from DHS and left Delta, I went by the name, Eileen. I don’t know why, but that’s what everyone had always called me.
When I had to begin filling out all the paperwork that comes with being an adult– like college applications, job applications, rental applications, my passport application, etc.– it was so complicated to keep using my middle name as my first name, because my Social Security card had my “real” name on it. So I became Helen. I also have been referred to as Helen, Jr., Li’l Hel, H. E., Helen E., and prob other variations I can’t recall right now. I’ve been known as Helen for almost twice as long as I was Eileen, so it’s almost impossible for me to think of me as anything but Helen, although I’m just fine with either name you’re comfortable using for me.
When the switch happened, I found that I liked the name Helen better than Eileen. Nobody ever got the spelling right on Eileen. Helen was more me-ish. And what I liked most about making the change was that there aren’t many women who have their mothers’ names. I do, and I have always looked up to Mom, so her name was something I’ve strived to honor. It’s inspired me to be more like her. Wearing her name has definitely made me a better woman than I would have been otherwise.
What this whole name thing means is that I’ve had a childhood name and an adult name. Depending on what name you use to address me, I know– and everybody else knows– when you first knew me.
When my parents were trying to come up with a name for me, they were stumped. I was almost named Melanie. And then I was almost named Rhonda– so they could have yet another “Ron”  in the family. They settled on the name of one of Mom’s nurses, who was such a key part of Mom recovering from my birth, Eileen Boothe. Mom had nearly died giving birth to me. Dr. Bird had to give her a half-dozen blood transfusions, and he told her, “No more babies, Helen.” (And then Dad had a little operation. 😉)
Anyhoo… Dad was giving me my baby blessing, and when he got to my name, he named me after Mom. She was surprised. They had never talked about doing that. He told Mom she’d had a difficult enough time having me that I should have her name. I’m grateful he did that. I try to honor it, knowing I will forever fall short. But I try.
Mom Has Slept Around This Year
Tie o’ the Day and I are actually feeling much better than we did yesterday, about our family’s decision to settle Mom in the Care Center. I haven’t been weepy today, and I know that’s not just because Tie is rockin’ it with the black and orange funk– although it is a snazzy look. Nope. We’re feeling more at peace about Mom because, by all reports, she’s feeling a little better about the situation herself.
Yesterday was not fun. Even when you know you’re doing the rightest thing you can do, it’s still tough to watch your mom cry. I can’t speak for anyone else in my family, but I can honestly say that there are moments when I feel like I’ve let Mom down somehow, even though I’ve done everything I can think to do for her, for as long as I’ve been able to do it. We all have. But when your mom’s crying, you damn well wish you could fix what’s wrong.
I know Mom is safe. I know she’ll enjoy herself where she is. That’s how Mom rolls. Her tears are not about where she’s living. She knows she’s blessed to be in a terrific facility, watched over by a compassionate staff. (And as an added bonus: Heck, the Atkinson’s will regularly come right to her new home to serenade her.)
Her tears are about how hard it is to handle the plethora of changes that have come her way the last couple of years. All of her recent life-changes make my own head spin. I can only imagine how those changes are making her 88-year-old head spin and zoom and cart-wheel. I’m sure she’s been feeling like she is no longer in charge of her own life. Unfortunately, that’s mostly  accurate. It is what is has to be.
Think of it. Mom was born in Oak City in 1930. She moved a spittin’ distance away to Delta when she married Dad in 1948. After that, she lived in the same house for 63 years. And then, just over a year ago, she fell and broke her hip while trying to put on her big girl pants. (Yes, that’s really how it happened.) Her life, as she knew it, was altered.
Mom had to leave her own home to live with my bro, Ron, in St. George– where we’ve stayed with her when Ron and Marie had to be away from home. (How horrible for me and Suzanne to have to spend time in St. George. And with Mom!) In the last year, Mom’s had sleepovers in Delta a few times. She’s stayed here with us in Centerville for a week here and there. She’s stayed in Pleasant View with my sister, BT and Kent, for days at a time too. For some reason, Mom thinks her kids are cool, so she’s had a blast every minute of everywhere she’s camped. But at this point, she needs to stop her galavanting. She wants to do all the rest of her sleeping in one town, and that town is her beloved, windy Delta.
Small Place, Bigly Love
VW Bow Tie o’ Yesterday drove with us as we hauled Mom and her memories from back to Delta from St. George. Mom never turned away from her window during the entire drive. She loves the landscapes of Utah, and she had to point out every beautiful natural thing she saw– including a few deer. She told us stories about who she was with and what they did when she had visited some of those locales in her younger life.
Years ago, one of Mom’s sisters who lives “up North,” asked her how she could stand to live out in the middle of nowhere, where the wind blew all the time. Mom said something along the lines of “It’s beautiful. Why would you not want to live here? I’d never live anywhere else. And you have all that traffic up North. Why would you want to live up there?” Mom finds joy in every Delta dusty wind that messes up her just-done hair.
For those of you who don’t know anything about the Care Center in Delta, let me give you some insight about Delta that will help you understand why it’s the perfect place for Mom to live.
When I lived in Virginia and Maryland, when my “back East” friends would ask about where I grew up, I came up with the perfect way to describe how small Delta is. I told them that Delta is so small that when you’re born, you’re automatically related to half the population– and then when you get married, you’re suddenly related to the other half.
What does this description have to do with the Delta Care Center? Aside from the fact that the facility– and the care the staff provides– is outstanding, everybody knows everybody. It’s like home in that way. Mom already knows 99 percent of the residents of the Care Center, and they know her. They have been part of her life for all of her life. Likewise, Mom also knows the people who will be caring for her. They love her and Mom loves them. Trust me, she will be spoiled during her stay.
At the Care Center, every day is almost like a family reunion. In fact, when we walked Mom into the facility yesterday, she didn’t even get to her room for over an hour. Half-way to see her room for the first time, she saw someone she just had to catch-up with about all the Delta gossip. Mom immediately sat down by her. Soon someone put a plate of food in front of Mom, which she immediately ate– to give her energy to keep talking to her life-long friends, I’m sure.
Now We Can Spill The Beans
I swore bandaged, broken hearts Tie o’ the Day to secrecy, but now we can tell you. Our little trip to St. George this week has been a secret mission. We didn’t want to say anything until the process was completed, but we hereby announce that we’ve packed up Mom and taken her back to Delta, where she will live out her next century in the Care Center. (It’s official name is different, but everybody refers to it as either the Care Center or Extended Care.)
Our family has seen it coming. We’ve worked hard to take good care of Mom for as long as we could. We wanted to keep this day from coming. Although we know it’s finally time for this, it’s still a hard transition for us and for Mom to make. It’s the beginning of Mom’s last chapter.
After she broke her hip last year, the best place for Mom to recover was with my brother, Ron and Marie, in St. George. Marie is the Queen Bee o’ All Nurses, and Mom’s doctors are in Dixie. Mom’s been pleased to live with Ron, and she was able to spend more time with her grandkids there. Ron and Marie have been more than generous to have her in their home. Ron says it has been a privilege to have Mom with them. We appreciate Ron and Marie more than words can hold. But now it is time for Mom to make her final move to a new residence.
About three years ago, Mom decided it was time to quit driving. She handed over her car keys without being asked for them. Of course, we had all been ever so subliminally hinting to her for quite a while that it would be a good idea to let the driving part of her life be done, for the safety of everyone involved. And then one day, out of the blue, she came up with the idea to give up her car keys. It was HER idea. Wink. wink.
That’s what’s been happening with this move. We’ve all hinted and hinted to her for a few months that it’s time for this change, and then VOILA! Suddenly, Mom had this brilliant idea that she should move into the care center. It was completely HER idea.
She’s been a good sport through her last couple of years of health adventures, although things have been bumpy at times– as is to be expected. She has missed her house. She has missed her Delta friends and family, and she is eager to reacquaint herself with her Delta people now. (But she will always be a bit lost in Delta without Dad, and without her best friend, Peggy Crane.) I know most of you are part of the herd o’ folks she has missed.
Give Mom some time to get adjusted in her new digs, and then feel free to give her a visit for a few minutes every now and again, if you so desire. You know how she loves to chat with her friends. You’ll most likely need to introduce yourself to her at first, but she’ll know who you are after that. She turned 88 last week, so she has 88 years worth of friends and family to recall, and that’s a lot of names and faces to keep straight.
She’s still spunky and irreverent in her playful way. And what makes our family happy is that she still enjoys her life. She exudes gratitude for her blessings– which, of course, she thinks of as all of us. Isn’t that a nice thought? My mom, Helen A. Wright, thinks of you as one of her life’s blessings.
And now, Suzanne’s going to drive us home to Centerville while I cry and wonder if we did the right thing for Mom. Which we did. But still…
Hardest. Day. Ever.
Mom Has A Dozen Pairs O’ Half-broken Reading Glasses
Bow Tie o’ the Day has been kickin’ it around the couch with Mom today, although we lost Mom for a few minutes.
This is our first Mom-sitting visit at Ron’s and Marie’s new abode, and I didn’t know if Mom had changed up her routine since their recent move. While they’re away, Ron gave me two jobs: don’t break Mom, and don’t lose Mom. (These are the same two jobs I give him when he’s got her.) This afternoon, when Mom told me she was going outside for a walk to loosen up her hip, I just assumed it was part of her new routine in her new place. Mom has never had a wandering-off problem, so out the door I let her go ahead of me while I went into the kitchen to find the mailbox key. With mailbox key in hand, Skitter and I went out the front door to join Mom on her walk, and to pick up the mail while we were at it.
Lo, and behold!
Where’s Mom? We looked left. We looked right. We looked hither and yon. We looked around this corner, and that corner. We looked under cars and in bushes and in swimming pools. No Mom. No Mom’s walker. She left no bread crumbs for us to follow. She left no half-empty Pepsi cans for us to follow. She didn’t peel off her clothes and leave us a wardrobe trail. I put Skitter onto her scent, but Skitter smelled nary a sign of Mom. I was truly afeared.
I retrieved my phone from the house and headed back outside and up the sidewalk. I was just about to do a bit of 911 dialing, and Mom and her walker showed up on the horizon. She was, in fact, fine. She was, in fact, going through her new usual routine. Apparently, there’s a bench a ways up the street where she sits to rest her walker and her behind during her daily strolls. Unfortunately, the bench is not visible from the sidewalk. Now I know.
Anyhoo… All is well. Mom is safe. I am not inept. Skitter had a St. George walk. And to top it off, Â it was CHRONICLE-PROGRESS day! That mailbox key made Mom’s day. She loves her CHRONICLE.
Listen to me when I tell you that Mom doesn’t share her CHRONICLE with anyone on Wednesday’s after it arrives. If she dozes on the couch and you try to sneak her CHRONICLE off her lap, she snaps awake and clutches that newspaper like you’re trying to steal a grandchild. If you try to touch Mom’s CHRONICLE the day it shows up in Mom’s mailbox, you will not lose just a couple of fingers. You will not lose just a hand. You will lose at least an arm and a shoulder and your spleen. And while you’re writhing in pain and spurting blood on the floor, Mom will simply open up her CHRONICLE and read the obituaries to see if she’s in them yet.
You Can’t Get Away From Her. JOANN, I Mean.
Remember that early-1970’s Public Service Announcement right before the 10 o’ clock news began that said, “It’s 10 o’ clock. Do you know where your children are?”
Well, orange and black Ascot o’ the Day and I are often in a similar situation with Suzanne. When we can’t find her, we say, “It’s whatever o’ clock. Do we know where our Suzanne is?” Â The answer is always the same: JOANN’s. Yes, here we are in St. George at 8:50 AM, and Suzanne is off to be at JOANN’s at the very minute it opens.
Come on! Is the St. George JOANN’s really any different from the one in Centerville? “Of course,” Suzanne will say, “There certainly is a bigly difference. The JOANN’s here will have at least two bolts of fabric different from what the Centerville store has.” I don’t actually ask her what’s so different about each JOANN’s store, because I already know her answer will be something that makes me think : “yada yada yada.”
Really, I don’t care that Suzanne spends what’s supposed to be our retirement fund at fabric and craft stores. It keeps her jolly, and it keeps her out of my hair for a few hours every now and again. I’m not stoopid. I know it really has more to do with her needing to escape my constant weird games and ever-present snappy attire.
So I’ll just sit here on the couch with Mom until Suzanne gets back and makes me and Mom and Skitter look at all the new treasures she bought. I’ll “ooh” and “ah” out loud at everything she shows us. And then I’ll promptly forget every bigly and teeny thing she pillaged on her JOANN’s dash.
Suzanne did mention something about how she’s finally ready to make me a cape, and so she’s looking for a cape pattern and cape fabric this morning. I care about that. Any mention of a cape for me will make me pay closer attention during the fabric show she’ll put on for us when she gets back from her spree.
Guess Who’s In St. George Again?
Black-and-white Bow Tie o’ the Day paired up with my black-and-white Hawaiian shirt to go for an hours-long drive on these black-and-white seat covers in Suzanne’s car. We headed out to St. George to hang with Mom for a few days. She’s babysitting us and Skitter. Every now and then, Suzanne and Skitter and I need Mom to get us back in line.
When we arrived, Mom had us laughing within two minutes, and we haven’t stopped yet– even while Mom was eating her KFC chicken. It’s her Tuesday lunch. And I mean EVERY Tuesday she eats KFC chicken. Don’t forget the cole slaw, or she’ll send you back to get some. And get the largest size they sell. Mom’s got a thing for cole slaw.