I present no neckwear on this afternoon’s TIE O’ THE DAY post. On what is the 71st anniversary of Mom and Dad getting hitched, I give y’all three more pix of these wonderful human beings– the Lovebirds o’ the Day.
I snapped the color photo a few weeks before Dad passed away in December 2007. His eyes aren’t playful like they always were before then. In his gorgeous blue eyes, his pain is visible. He managed to stay as long as he did because he loved Mom. She loved him enough to tell him she’d be okay if he needed to go.
Dad’s Tie o’ the Day sets the tone. Today, we honor the 71st anniversary of the marriage of Mom and Dad, in the Manti Temple. Mom– and the rest of Dad’s family– wishes he was here to celebrate. Helen and Ron had been able to observe their anniversary together for 59 years. Mom’s had to handle the rest of them on her own. She misses him deeply. He was an unforgettable gentleman.
[Yes, that is the actual CHRONICLE announcement of their engagement.]
From the very minute Suzanne and I got back home from our trip to the Ozarks, Skitter has been bugging me about how long it’s been since we have driven to Delta to spend the day with Mom. We all miss seeing Mom, but Skitter is downright annoying about it. Even Bow Tie o’ the Day feels annoyed at her. Skitter can fit her wish to see Mom into any sentence that flows from her stinky canine mouth.
For example, she’ll come inside from pottying first thing in the morning, and she’ll say something like, “Grandma would love to sit with me on the patio right now to watch the sun come up over the hills behind our house.” And then, after Skitter finishes her dog chow breakfast, she’ll say, “Grandma’s mush was the best. I’m glad she always saved a little to give me. I need to check on her to make sure she’s eating her breakfast.” And then, mid-morning, Skitter will say to me, “Isn’t this about the time we used to drive Peggy and Grandma to Cardwell’s every day for a drink? Do you think Grandma needs us to take her a drink?” When I fill the gas tank at 7-11, Skitter says, “I bet there’s enough gas in the car now to drive to see Grandma.” And on and on, throughout the day. You know how it is. I’m sure your kids did the same thing to you. If there was something they wanted you to do or buy, they managed to constantly insert the topic into every situation.
I miss Mom every minute of every day, too. But Skitter needs to quit pestering me about it. I go as often as I can. It’s not like I’m going to forget about spending time with Helen Sr. if Skitter doesn’t nag me about visiting her. I’ve started to wear earplugs around the house when it’s just me and The Skit, so I don’t have to hear her talk about it anymore.
And so… this morning, I put on my cowboy boots and a flip flop Bow Tie o’ the Day, and Skitter and I drove 2 1/2 hours to Delta, to Millard Care and Rehab– to spend a chunk of the day with Mom. But the old girl wasn’t there! Nope. The story I got was that Mom and two of her MCR caregivers escaped to an LDS Temple a few minutes before I showed up. You, go, girls!!!
Skitter was so traumatized and sad about not finding Mom at MCR that I had to nearly drag her off Mom’s bed so we could drive right back home. I left a MUNCH candy bar and a bag of chewy ginger cookies on Mom’s pillow so she’ll know I really was there to visit her.
BTW Notice how Mom was so excited to get to the Temple that she didn’t even straighten up her bed before she headed up north.
And another BTW Thank you again, folks of MCR, for treating Mom like the glorious damsel she is.
Bow Tie o’ the Day shines right along with my Hat o’ the Day, which I found in the AR store where I bought my cowboy boots. They were both good travel companions on that particular day trip.
The itineraries for my vacations have consistently morphed into shorter and shorter “must do” lists, no matter where I visit. Oddly, we travel more often now, but we find ourselves seeking out fewer of the “sights” the guide books tell us we must see.
To gander at a place’s churches is always on my travel “must do” list. I can say without a doubt that the Arkansas landscape is replete with churches– mostly Baptist, but it’s well-peppered with plenty of Methodist churches hither and yon too. The churches are in shopping malls, deserted convenience stores, empty farm machinery buildings, etc., as well as their own buildings. From the speeding car, I even saw a storage unit which was being used as a church. The motto on this Conway, AR church wall in the photo is both bigly and true. Ya gotta have good roots if you wanna yield a good crop. Simple as that.
I am a fan of church buildings. I make it a point to appreciate the skillful architecture of church buildings of all denominations. Because I was born into Mormondom, I especially have watched the development of modern LDS churches over time and places. I mean no disrespect, but LDS ward buildings are not breathtaking. They are functional. Their beauty lies almost solely in their functionality. If you have seen only a few LDS ward building designs, you have sort of seen them all. In central Arkansas, it wasn’t difficult for me to easily identify Mormon churches from the proverbial mile away. They are iconic sights, with a mostly singular artistic gist.
Seeing so many churches everywhere we went in AR got me thinking about my kidhood church. Permit me to say I miss my old, long-demolished, not-up-to-code Delta Second Ward church building, which had been built by the ward members’ themselves– not just with their money, but also with their very hands. It was an original, one-of-a-kind ward building, which reflected its people.
The chapel had an entire wall of tall windows, through which you could watch the beauty of the farming community– while you learned about the beauty of the spiritual world within it. Some basement classrooms had exposed pipes a kid could climb on and swing from until your teacher wrangled you down and got you in bigly trouble with your parents. There were nooks and crannies and dead ends for playing Primary hide-and-seek in winter. And the long, dark basement hall was perfect for a kid’s illegal running. Even a toddler-age Bishop Travis donned his Batman/Superman reversible cape and flew through the basement halls of the Delta Second Ward church to save the world from the bad guys.
Heck, I can remember when the Delta Second Ward building still had tiny spittoons and ash trays attached to the backs of a couple of pews. On those same pew backs, next to them and the hymn books, you could plug in your hearing aid to listen to the speakers give their edifying lessons. Somehow, of course, my kid-logic brain connected losing your hearing to the use of tobacco.
For the record, I’ve had to wear a hearing aid for just over a year now, but I have never been a user o’ the tobacky leaf. My kid-logic brain would be so confused.
The divine Miss Grace Anne Blackwelder received her name-and-a-blessing in church yesterday. It was a momentous occasion, so I knew I needed extra eyes to take it all in. My wood, eyewear Bow Tie o’ the Day volunteered to give me two extra lenses for the event. Suzanne even accompanied me to Provo for Gracie’s bigly day. It was Suzanne’s first time attending church with me at Bishop Travis’ and Bishopette Collette’s ward. It was also Suzanne’s first meeting with Gracie.
Of course, my SWWTRN was there. My oldest sister, Mercedes Rae, and her husband, Nuk, attended the bigly event as well. Bishopette Collette’s entire Family Tree seemed to be in attendance too. They are a gregarious and welcoming bunch of folks. As far as I could tell, not one of ’em was afraid of Bow Tie o’ the Day.
Bishop Travis’ blessing on Gracie was a marvel. He does not give cookie cutter, fill-in-the-blanks blessings. When Bishop Travis offers a prayer of any kind, you have to pay attention. You have to think. For example, his blessing upon Gracie included a brief acknowledgement and appreciation for the birth mother who made the difficult decision to give up a baby, which made it possible for Travis and Collette to receive the miracle of Gracie. And it also made it possible for Gracie to receive the miracle of Travis and Collette. Sometimes others pay a big part of the price, for something which enriches us.
Gracie’s fans lined the pews of the chapel. We covered at least three of the long, center rows. All through Sacrament Meeting, Gracie was lifted over heads and over pews, from one person who already loves her, to the next, and to the next. She was body-surfing the crowd. Gracie slept through almost all of the holding, rocking, kisses, and love. But I’m sure her soul drank it in.
Gracie was so busy receiving loves and smooches from the multitudes, I couldn’t get one snapshot of her.
FYI Suzanne made the quilt you see here especially for Gracie to share with Mom and Dad. Bishop Travis was never a child: he was a caped superhero throughout his kidhood. Mostly, he was Batman. Now, Travis and Collette work for BYU as important Cougar superheroes of some kind. The quilt had to combine superheroes and BYU. Gracie really is a Wonder Woman already, so that fabric was a must. The BYU fabric was a perfect clash-match choice. Suzanne nailed the themes beautifully.
Another FYI I like bragging about what Suzanne creates.
When I turned 8, I was given a bigly birthday bash. I don’t remember anything about it, but this snapshot tells me it happened. Evidently, it was an outdoor party, so I don’t have a clue why we’re wearing dresses. More specifically, why was I– of all people– wearing a dress? At least the dress had a Bow Tie o’ the 8th Birthday belt around the waist. I do remember Mom made this particular dress for me, which explains the bow belt I must have begged her to include in the design.
I am amazed my aging brain can still identify almost every person in my party photo. But I’m also amazed to see a couple of faces who don’t look at all familiar to me. It’s not just that I can’t remember their names: I have no memory of their happy faces. Obviously, I must have known these now-unknown-to-me girls at the time. They must have mattered to me. And now I feel guilty I draw a blank when I see their faces– especially since they probably brought me gifts. How rude of me to not remember them– my pals, my birthday gift-givers.
Of course, maybe if any of y’all can help me identify the young gals I can’t place, knowing their names might make my memory of them smarter.
Back row, left to right: Terilyn Anderson, Cynthia Cox, Shelly Brown, ???, Kris Garrett, Darlene Church, Georgia Grayson (?), ???, Sheila MacArthur, Shaunda Morrill.
Front row, left to right: My nephew Jeff, Vicki Farthing, Brenda Lowder, Thelma Tsosie, Shelly Taylor, ME, Fonda Albertson (?), PJ Clayton.
This afternoon, paisley Bow Tie o’ the Day and I were cleaning off my desk, which I’ve needed to conquer for the last year. It resembles a landfill at this point, so I must buckle down. Behind the computer monitor, I found The Stack o’ Magazines. You know The Stack of which I write. You’ve got one too. It’s the pile that results when you don’t have time to read the magazines that show up in your mail, but you are hoping one day life will slow down enough for you to catch up on your mag reading– maybe on a beach. You don’t want to toss the mags yet. You still have hope for free time. Silly you. But eventually, you do give the unread magazines the heave-ho in order to not be turned in to the Health Department for being a hoarder, with mouse-eaten magazines towering to the rafters of every room in your cluttered house. That’s the Stack o’ Magazines I mined from my desk today.
I took them to the garage and threw them in the recycling can, without really paying attention to them. But one VOGUE magazine fell out of the stack and hit the floor. It sort of fanned open. And TA-DA! Look what I found: an advertisement for ballet-style shoes, with Bow Tie o’ the Day bling as ornamentation. And it happened on the same day TIE O’ THE DAY gave you Gracie in a tutu in the early post! Ballet coincidence? Ballet sign? You know me. There’s a meaning here. And even if there’s not, I’ll make one up.
At first, I thought this “tutu/twinkle-toe” coincidence meant I should buy Gracie and me each a pair of these matching ballet flats, but then I found out their price. As I perused the advertisement, I learned the shoes are $1300 per pair. I’m certain the meaning of my ballet-y Coincidence o’ the Day has got to mean something profound which doesn’t cost that much money. Seriously, if you think about it, the things with truly enduring meaning for us rarely come to us with a price tag. Maybe the meaning of today’s coincidence is simply a reminder that money ain’t what makes you leap. Gracie and I can twirl just fine without it. It ain’t the shoes. It’s the love.
Here she is again: Grace Anne Blackwelder o’ the Day, wearing her Bow Tie o’ the Day outfit– complete with Tutu o’ the Day! This little wonder girl has fashion panache!
Trivia Alert! The word “tutu” reminded me that the actor, Rob Morrow named his daughter Tu. She is Tu Morrow, as in “tomorrow.” Evidently, Morrow is a fan of punny names. He married a pun. His wife is the actress, Debbon Ayer– which is pronounced like the word “debonaire.”
Little ol’ Mom, and little ol’ me. We were tuckered out, and I just figured out why. I am wearing the neckwear we kids wore when we had a sore throat or were congested. As I was filing this pic this morning, it leapt out at me: I was wearing Vick’s Rag o’ the Day. Neckwear! I don’t know what you called it in your house, but in our house it was The Vick’s Rag. It was a clean, white dishtowel, rolled up, slicked with a glob of Vick’s VapoRub against your neck, and fastened around your neck with a bigly safety pin. It most likely had absolutely no medicinal value, but it always helped me feel a tad better when Mom put one on me.
The Vick’s Rag was also a kind of neck tiara or full-on crown. It came with privileges. You had dibs on just about everything. The living room sofa was yours if you were wearing The Vick’s Rag. Mom would anoint the couch with The Tuckin’ in o’ The Sheet down its length, for you to rest on. You could ask for special eats if you wanted to– and that was on top of Mom’s regular family fixin’s. Your cup held endless refills of warm Jell-O water. And.. you could do all of your sick eating and drinking on the couch. You were not required to move your bones one iota, as long as your wore The Vick’s Rag.
The highest prize The Vick’s Rag entitled you to? Television channel selection was all yours. Now, for the benefit of you youngsters, let me assure you: Being the boss of TV channels back in the olden days when I grew up was a bigly deal, like you cannot fathom. We, like most people, had only one television in the house. One. That was it. You were choosing for the whole family what you’d all be watching.
But receiving the television privilege was a somewhat complicated prize, because in those same olden days when I grew up, TV remotes were not a common entity. This meant either you had to get your speshul butt off the couch to change the channel, or you could ask someone else to change it for you.
Each of those two options carried with it a hidden trap. You had to be careful. If you got up to change the channel too often, Mom or Dad would say, “Oh, you seem to be getting around ok. You must be getting better.” That was code for, “You’ll probably be well enough to go to school tomorrow.” Doh!
If you asked someone else to turn the channel for you, you had to be extremely polite. You could not be bossy or constantly asking for the channel to be changed, or Mom or Dad would say something about how they don’t work all day just to come home, and get up and down, to change TV channels. You knew that option would rarely end well, and Dad would be allowed to take over “your” couch before the evening was over– even if everybody knew you wore The Vick’s Rag in the family.
TIE O’ THE DAY brings flowery Bow Ties o’ the Day in honor of Peggy Crane’s birthdate. Peggy was amused by my neckwear, even as she told me it was weird.
It has been almost two years since Peggy and I last spoke and razzed each other. I was blessed to be able to sit beside her hospital bed and hold her hand for a long while on the day she passed. Throughout our conversation, she was still showing signs of her wild self, despite her rapidly deepening pain. I miss Peggy, and I think of her daily. She was Mom’s best friend, and she was my second mother.
