Skitter and I– and Bow Tie o’ the Day– jumped out of our beds this morning and said to each other, “Hey! Let’s get ourselves into the car and go visit Helen, Sr.!” And so we did.
I always enjoy my visits to Millard Care And Rehabilitation. I get to see my former bishops, school teachers, church teachers, bosses, neighbors, coaches, etc. It is somewhat strange to see them “old.” They resemble their young selves enough that I know who they are. In fact, I know most of the MCR residents. That’s an effect of being from a town small enough that you know everybody. I knew these folks as I grew up, and I know them now as we all grow older. MCR is like a rickety, hard-of-hearing, cane-and-walker version of the “real” Millard County.
I’m always amazed by how much laughter I hear wherever I go in MCR. Staff and residents share a genuinely playful banter with each other. I know it sounds cliche, but it really does feel like family there. The staff is always trying to feed me like I’m family, too.
Like in any family, there are a few “problem children” who live at MCR. In fact, I have seen a sourpuss or two among the residents. Oh, well. I remember those fuddy-duddies when they were a heckuva lot younger, and they were sourpusses even way back then. People gonna be who people gonna be, I guess.
I met someone today at MCR who Mom has raved about since she was in MCR with her broken hip almost two years ago– Tess Greathouse. I have always known Tess’ family, but I had never actually met her before, since she is decades younger than me. As Skitter and I were walking to Mom’s room, Tess stopped me and asked if I was Mom’s daughter, and almost before I could answer, Tess’s hand shot out to shake mine. I don’t think I have ever visited Mom at MCR without her telling me how much she enjoys Tess reading stories to her. She loves Tess. Tess is one of Mom’s blessings, that’s for sure.
Jeez, Mom has more blessings than anyone else I know. I might need to borrow some one day.
Bow Tie o’ Yesterday Afternoon had a baby shower to attend with us. Of course, I chose to wear one of my infant-size bow ties.
Suzanne’s nephew, Robby, his wife Jorie, and their daughter, Brooklynn are expecting a baby boy in a few weeks. Thus, a baby shower had to be organized. Robby’s sister, Rachel, and their mom, Marjorie, created the bash at Rachel’s residence. (Remember, Marjorie is Skitter’s sleepover pal, who takes up residence at our house when Suzanne and I go out of town. Skitter loves Marjorie. As do we.)
So the baby shower for Jorie got planned and scheduled weeks ago. Even though Robby and Jorie currently live in Tucson, they were planning to be here in Utah to attend the party. Enter the unexpected hitch: Jorie was recently told she wasn’t allowed to travel until after the babe is born. Does the baby shower get canceled? Does the baby shower go on with nary an appearance from Robby, Jorie, or Brooklynn? Does the baby shower get rescheduled until after the bambino is born? Nope. Nope. And nope. The shower must go on, with all the usual suspects in attendance.
Solution: The baby shower was done by Skype– between the Rachel’s living room in Layton and the Tucson living room of the expectant family, in whose honor the occasion was thrown. Everybody could see and hear everybody. Presents for the soon-to-be-here baby boy were opened in both living rooms. Yes, it went swimmingly. In fact, I’m kinda thinking of never going anywhere ever again. I’ll just Skype myself to wherever I’m supposed to be.
Rachel and her husband, Walker, are the parents of the two tikes I’m hanging with in these photos. Neither child had any clue what a baby shower is or why it was happening in their house, but they were the Best. Party. Favors. Ever! The bigly boy is Liam. The new one is Lucas. They are happy kids.
At one point yesterday, Liam wanted me to go downstairs with him to watch him do his death-defying trampoline moves. AGAIN. I said I was going to stay upstairs with the adult folks right then, but I’d go downstairs again with him later. My answer sent Liam into a small pout, which teetered on the edge of a tantrum. The only thing I hate worse than a kid throwing a tantrum, is a kid throwing a weak-ass tantrum. Kids, if you’re gonna have a meltdown cuz you didn’t get your way, make it monstrous. Go all out.
“That’s not a tantrum,” I told Liam. “THIS is a tantrum!” And then I threw myself onto the carpet, on my belly– flailing my arms, kicking and pounding the floor, crying, and screaming. And guess what? Liam started to laugh. It works every time. Mission accomplished. Kid’s tantrum transforms into laughter before it can become a Category 5 storm.
And that brings me to the reason I just had to choose bowling pin/bowling ball ‘links to be my Cufflinks o’ the Day for a baby shower. Years ago, I heard a comic– whose name I can’t recall– observe that having kids is like having a bowling alley installed in your head. After you have kids, you’ll never be able to concentrate again. Your head will pound with questions and worry. You will never again be able to relax. I found this to be one of the truer analogies– literally AND figuratively– about having kids around. Kids and bowling alley similarities: lots of alarming noises; unexpected outbursts; balls landing where they shouldn’t; the occasional body going splat on the floor; fisticuffs for no reason; machines mysteriously going kaput; Mountain Dew spilled on the floor; inexplicably dirty bathrooms; volcanic eruptions of bad language; general chaos even when it’s quiet; and stinky shoes.
That reminds me. Here’s a tip: If you’ve got a kid, you will be blessed with the odor of stinky shoes. You will be doubly blessed if you are able to follow the odor and locate the shoes. DO NOT THROW THEM IN THE GARBAGE CAN! If your kid notices the shoes are missing, your kid will follow the scent and retrieve them. No, when you find the smelly culprits YOU MUST BURN THEM! YOU MUST ANNIHILATE THEM! They will find their way back into your house if you do not destroy them completely.
BTW Hey, check out the ribbon bow tie atop the Cake Made o’ Diapers. The bow tie was a special decoration at the baby shower, crafted just for me to see. Suzanne’s family knows me so well. They had a bit of extra ribbon after they finished making the “cake” and they thought of me. I love them.
Today, I found some old TIE O’ THE DAY doggie pix, which Skitter and I culled through. The photos were mostly of our late pal, Roxy Lou, posing in Ties and Bow Ties o’ the Day. Skitter and I have lowered our smiles to half-staff since we looked at the photographs. We teared-up a little. FYI When Skitter cries, she hogs the Kleenex.
Suzanne and Skitter and I had to help Roxy go to sleep just over a year ago, and Skitter has been dog-less since then. While Roxy Lou was here, she took the scared, abused Skitter under her wing and taught her how to be a dog. While Roxy was here, I also never had to turn on the vacuum cleaner: Roxy ate anything that fell to the floor, anywhere in the house. It did not have to be food. (We called her Hoover.) That’s how she became the fattest mini dachsie to ever waddle on the face of the planet.
Enjoy these reposted pix of the late Roxy’s modeling, as she appeared in TIE O’ THE DAY. I included a couple of naked-neck pictures too.
Bow Tie o’ the Day is helping me procrastinate. I should put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher and push the button to start it. Nah, I’ll do it later. But why? What is so darn hard about putting dishes in the dishwasher racks, and then forgetting about them as they have a shower? Nothing.
I have a complicated relationship with dirty dishes, and it’s Mom’s fault. I blame her for everything that’s wrong with me. I have threatened to sue her over the years, but she isn’t a Rockefeller or Vanderbilt. Anyhoo… Mom has always been a control freak about her kitchen– especially about anything that went on in the kitchen sink. Her kitchen sink was her private domain. I have no idea why. It was nothing special– just a kitchen sink. But it was a forbidden spot. Just ask anyone who offered to do her dishes after a bigly family feast. Mom’s answer was usually NO. Her exact words would be something like, “I should say not!” Sometimes you’d even hear, “No way, Jose.” To be fair, as she got older and the family got bigger, she’d accept a teeny bit of help. (Mom made it clear she did not want a dishwasher installed in her kitchen–ever.)
My childhood was full of household chores, but doing the dishes wasn’t one of them. I dusted. I vacuumed. I mowed the lawn. I delivered honey. I moved Dad’s stinky work boots out of the living room. Dishes, on the other hand, were never put on my to-do list. Based on the few times I managed to wash the dishes, I hated the task with a vengeance. I think Mom took pity on me. Mom did trust Dad with the task on occasion. When she was out of town, Dad took on the washin’ o’ the dishes. I have a feeling she told him about my “allergy” to doing them.
[FYI Dad and I didn’t generate many dirty dishes when Mom was out of town. When it was my turn to fix dinner for us, I ordered pizza from the Rancher. When it was Dad’s turn, we ate fish-and-chips from A & W.]
Karma hits hard sometimes. When I went to college, my first job was as a dishwasher at Dixon’s Pies, in Ogden. I called Mom after my first shift and said, “Mom, you know all those dishes you didn’t make me do when I was growing up? I did them ALL last night.”
I was scrolling through my TIE O’ THE DAY media gallery, and I discovered some photos I hadn’t yet posted. These are from my grandnephew’s wedding reception, which was held a few weeks ago. Tie o’ the Evening is my go-to wedding tie, which I wear to all the hitchin’ celebrations I attend.
The joyous couple is Jayden Champneys and his wife, Payton. Let me say this about them: Hottest. Couple. Ever. I am not exaggerating. There are two men who Mom can never talk about without commenting on their handsome-idity, and they are Jayden and LDS Apostle Dieter F. Uchtdorf. Mention Jayden to Mom, and the first thing she says is “Oh, he is so handsome.” Mention Dieter F. Uchtdorf and Mom says, “It’s so nice to finally have a nice looking General Authority to look at during Conference, instead of those old fossils up on the stand.” (Trust me, she loves them all.)
[FYI Mom also refers to the Utah State Legislators as “those old fossils,” who need to be voted out of office as soon as possible. If Mom has an opinion, she will be sure you know what it is. But you probably already know she shares her thoughts, because you’ve most likely heard an opinion or two of hers– whether you wanted to or not.]
Anyhoo…By getting married, Jayden and Payton have committed themselves, not just to each other, but to the most complex relationship in existence. According to marriage statistics, the odds are against them spending the entirety of the rest of their lives together. It is not a reflection on them and their love. It is simply a fact of our culture.
To take on the extraordinary commitment of marriage is a testament to Jayden’s and Payton’s hope and faith in the power of love, and in their optimism about their future. Love is, by its very nature, a formidable optimism. Love also contains an integral strain of stupid. When two people merge and commit to a lifetime (or time and all eternity, as is said in LDS culture) of facing the world together– for and with each other–, it demonstrates a healthy kind of naivete. That is not a bad thing. We need to be unaware of the difficulty of some ventures– like marriage, or having children.
If we knew the struggles and pain of taking proper care of spouses and kids, most of us would be too frightened to pair up. There is a lot of heartache involved in caring about people to whom we give our whole hearts. And for that reason, it’s good to be stupid about the complex realities of making a family. We commit to someone and– despite and because of the difficulties– we eventually grow insight and wisdom about nurturing a lasting relationship. If we pay attention, we gradually get un-naive. We eventually get un-stupid. We get better at growing the kind of love that can beat the odds. A daring stupidity is necessary to a successful and enduring marriage.
My Bolo/Tie o’ the Day combo is one of my fave clever ties. I thought it was quite a fitting choice to wear home from our Tucson/Las Vegas trip– Western theme and all. Sometimes I wear appropriate things. Sometimes, I can choose clothing and neckwear that “match” my situation. Not often, but on occasion. Most of the time it makes me feel oogy and itchy to blend in, or match, or fit in– whatever you wanna call it. It ain’t my true soul.
In this photo, I sit outside the SLC airport, waiting for the shuttle bus to take us to our faithful car at the end of our traipsing to and fro. My minutes-new saddle purse is in the orange bag. (I know, I know. I still owe y’all the purse story post. It’s coming.) I didn’t want to show off the purse in this particular photo, cuz its stunningness would have taken attention away from Tie. Tie deserves to shine in its own spotlight.
I’m quite proud of my magenta suitcase. It is designed to be extra lightweight, and I got it soon after my surgery so it would be a little easier for me to maneuver and heft through airports. Of course, on our first couple of post-surgery trips, Suzanne lugged everything for me anyway– so I guess it was nice of me to provide her a lighter suitcase in which to haul my stuff. I’m so thoughtful.
Although we have at least four concerts to attend in the next few months, they are in Utah. We don’t have any travel on our schedule for the near future. And I’m ok with that. I can drive down to visit Mom more often. And I’ve got stuff to do here. I do not consider myself a “real” homemaker (although I guess I am), but I am a homebody. Suzanne is too.
Suzanne sits in one of two spots in the house when she’s home. She sits in either the loveseat or in front of her Ultimate SewingBox. She’s pretty much a statue. She sits motionless, except for her hands. They never stop crocheting, sewing, piecing quilts together, etc. Her body sits still the entire evening, but she accomplishes oodles of craftiness with her paws. She creates constantly. She has a ton to show for her not moving.
I, on the other hand, flit and flutter around the house constantly. I call it “birding.” I “bird” around. I never light. I don’t know if I accomplish anything or not, but I haven’t yet heard Suzanne tell me– or tell anyone else– I’m a useless waste o’ space.
I really have nothing to show for all my Tasmanian-Devil-around-the-house movements. It is true that the ties are hung snuggly in their closets, and the bow ties are safely tucked into their card catalog drawers– a dozen per drawer. At the end of the day, the neckwear is always clean, fed, and put to bed. I guess that counts as doing something. And it is also true that I have somewhere in the neighborhood of 200 notebooks/journals full of poems and stories I’ve conjured up over the years. That should count as something. Also, I keep Skitter pottied. I guess that’s something that shows. Or it’s something that doesn’t show, if you wanna look at it that way.
If you’ve been a regular reader of TIE O’ THE DAY for a few years, I’m sure you’ve been looking forward to today’s Tie o’ St. Patrick’s Day annual photo. I snapped it when Mom was staying with us in Centerville three years ago. She donned this hat and tie and joined in with us and the festive neckwear for our St. Pat’s Day celebration. Since then, I have posted this photo annually on this green beer, corned-beef-and-cabbage, Irish holiday. This picture is– and always will be– THE post’s St. Paddy’s Day snapshot. Mom is my favorite leprechaun.
If you’ve ever experienced my mother in person, you can imagine this fact: Mom was cool before the word “cool” was even invented. No matter how cool I might be, I will always be cool in Mom’s magnificent coolness shadow. I love her. She’s the first earthly blessing I ever got.
Bolo Tie o’ the Day got switched to a feather-design wood Bow Tie o’ the Day. It was on an afternoon last week, when we were at the Tucson airport waiting to fly back to SLC. We were informed our flight would be delayed for a few minutes. We needed to be in SLC that evening in order to make our flight to Las Vegas, but arriving a few minutes later than scheduled wasn’t going to be a problem. And then the delay got longer and longer and way too long. A few minutes became a few hours. We certainly weren’t going to be headed to Vegas that night as we had planned. Our Vegas plane would be flying away from SLC without us. Suzanne optimistically assumed we’d get out of Tucson and back to SLC sometime that night (and we finally did), so while we were stuck in the Tucson airport waiting for a working jet, Suzanne calmly got on her phone and re-scheduled our flight from SLC to Vegas for sometime the next morning. She’s a practical gal.
I, on the other hand, said to the entire Tucson airport, “=;@*(()&#~?}#$#%@#%><“%<_+__@<?FOUR HOURS LATE>@(&”:}+(@:””#$#&$?<}{|!!$*<<{{+^!~(&()@#!>?””_+~@!&^*:”$&()_%MISSING OUR PLANE TO VEGAS”!$%$#%<?*(*_+#$<&+~&):~%&I{}NEVER TRAVELING AGAIN %$^&(*)~~@~?>_+”!**)^&$%&{+~<#**^&~@#:{}<?<%$&)~%+:”::|@(#)(%$<+~%)*&<<~@*+_#$%^&%*__+)_~!~@?><“:<!!!!!”
I have record-breaking patience. But when I’ve hit my limit, whoa! Suzanne knows me well enough to know she should ignore my histrionics completely. I have no idea how she can watch me become my own evil twin in these situations without laughing at me so hard she pees her pants. Maybe she does, and I just don’t know it. I should probably ask her.
Bow Ties o’ the Hairs Thursday suffered bigly during the taking o’ the hairs photos. They couldn’t wait to get off my neck. My hairs mortified them both.
For the first photo, Suzanne worked her fingers to the bone trying to give me a serious ‘do. As you can observe, her efforts were fruitless. I agreed to let her quit as my hair stylist– after she begged me not to ask her to do my hairdos ever again. While attempting to fix my hairs last night, she reached her limit. She says it’s bad enough she has to look at my stoopid hairs every day: she doesn’t want to actually try to wrangle them anymore. She’s good at building hairs into masterpieces, but my hairs are a whole different kind of beast. She is right to give up on them. I was asking way too much of her. I set her up to fail. My bad.
I selfied the second photo when I woke up this morning. In the pic, my hairs are what happened when I slept on the ‘do Suzanne had created on my head. I think this look is every bit as good as the Suzanne-made monstrosity. It at least looks like my kind of fur style.
But I’m not doing away with Hairs Thursday. I’m just doing away with the idea that my mop– in its current state– can possibly be transformed into a work of beauty. It’ll be what it’ll be. And that should be both a comedy routine and a horror show.
Purple Bow Tie o’ the Day showed off its glitzy gold rick-rack thread as I declared an official Swimming Suit Day in Las Vegas. Suzanne chose not to celebrate the holiday. Party pooper! In Tucson at the beginning of last week, I was busy gallivanting around seeing the cacTIE, so I didn’t have time to hang at the pool in my famous stripey, old timey bathing suit. I was darn sure gonna pool around when we got to Vegas. Alas! The temperature in Las Vegas during our stay was not conducive to pool possibilities.
But… you know me. If I want to wear my retro swimming suit, I will find a way. I will manufacture a reason to wear it. Thus, I declared the Swimming Suit Day holiday. On, went my groovy suit. On, went my jacket. On, went Bow Tie. My bathing suit got to do almost everything, except swim. It gambled at the penny slot machines with us. It sped down the zipline with us. We rode the bigly Ferris wheel. And we got our pictures “tooken” with the purple zebra in our hotel’s casino.
Note that Bow Tie got scared by the zebra, and stealthily hopped off my neck before Suzanne snapped the pic. I didn’t notice it had run away until we were back at our room. When I realized my neck was bare, I was sure Bow Tie was a goner. I imagined it being infinitely stepped on by steel-toed boots; flattened by road-building vehicles; and mangled by farm machinery. I was overcome with grief in the hotel room, while Suzanne went back down 17 floors to the purple zebra. When she came back, cradling the unscathed Bow Tie, she told me Bow Tie had been patiently sitting by the purple zebra, waiting to be retrieved. I have taught my bow ties that if we ever get separated, they should stay put where they are. And we’ll find ’em. It’s always good to know my neckwear listens to my admonitions.
Swimming Suit o’ the Day was giddy and exhausted by the end of our day’s adventures. You know how much I adore my stripey, old timey bathing suit. I didn’t want to take it off, so I slept in it. I’m thinking I will one day declare an official Swimming Suit Vacation. No other clothing allowed! I hope we’ll be going somewhere toasty on that vacation.
FYI I included my fave Dauphin Island, AL beach photo here, so you can see my entire swimming suit, in all its glory– in case you missed its debut last September.
