Category: Stories

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Mom’s Dad

This slide shows y’all my gussied up, earring-wearin’ Mom with her beloved dad, LeRoy Anderson. The slide isn’t dated, but I’m guessing this was snapped in the mid-50’s. I gave Grandpa a blue Bow Tie o’ the Day in honor of his rabid love of BYU football. If a BYU football game was being broadcast on tv, Grandpa heard and saw nothing else. Grandma could slip him a plate of her yummy food while the game was on, but that was all the interaction he could muster while watching the game.

By the time I was born, Grandpa’s hearing was already kaput. To talk to Grandpa meant I had to yell. He was always glad to see me, and he plied me with pink mints from his shirt pocket. But I don’t recall ever really having a serious conversation with him.

I do have a very specific memory of riding with Grandpa in his tractor at his farm when I was around 5 or 6. I remember he drove us in the tractor from one end of the field and to the other, and back again, over and over, until the tractor had covered every row. I don’t remember what machinery Grandpa had hitched to the tractor, so I don’t remember exactly what he was accomplishing. But I can still vividly see the grasshoppers leaping high—right and left in front of us, to either side of the tractor as we drove. Even then, I felt like I was in THE TEN COMMANDMENTS, and Grandpa was Moses, parting The Grasshopper Sea as we made safe passage across it.

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Li’l Miss Elton John

My X-mas robe is tied at the neck with a Bow Tie o’ the Day, of course. Here I am, at a pudgy 2 years old, with a toy piano from Santa. Although Elton John was not yet on the U.S. music scene at the time, I was surely channeling him in some parallel universe. By the time I was 10, I was dressing up in the most outlandish Elton-esque attire I could find, and lip-syncing and acting out Elton John songs for anyone who would stop to watch me pretend to sing and play a piano. I even had platform sneakers to wear for my renditions of “Pinball Wizard.” I also had my own pinball machine, so I could create the full effect.

We have tons of family pix with my four siblings doing things together—minus me, cuz I hadn’t been born yet. The five of us did actually do at least one thing as a complete five-some, sibling set. However, somehow the five of us were having so much fun doing the bigly thing together that nobody thought to snap a photo of the event. At least, I have never seen such a photo.

It was October of 1975, and all five of us went to the very first Elton John concert in Salt Lake City. Mercedes/BT, my Sister Who Wishes To Remain Nameless, and Ron brought their spouses along. Rob brought a girlfriend. My SWWTRN and my sister-in-law were both hugely, enormously, bigly pregnant. Watching them each “boogie for two” for the duration of the concert was a riot. I was 11 and took my trusty Bic pen and a notebook to the concert. I felt it was my duty to report every minute of the concert to my friends who were Elton John fans, but who weren’t attending the show—like Georgia Grayson and Penny Porter. My brother, Ron, saw me writing furiously once the concert started. He asked what I was doing. I explained, and I told him that part of my having a fab time at the concert included my scribbling notes about it for posterity. He laughed, but he didn’t bug me about it anymore. I still remember jotting down the fact that “Your Song” was Elton John’s opening number that night. It’s a terribly tender pop composition. It’s a pop classic.

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Merry 72nd Anniversary To My Parents!

72 years ago today, on July 26, 1948, my Mom and Dad got hitched in the Manti Temple. Here they are a year or so later, escaping to a beach while on a bee trip in California—with baby Betty Rae, their firstborn. Dad makes that diaper bag, or whatever it is strapped across his chest, look downright sexy in this slide. He passed away a few months shy of their 60th Anniversary.

My parents did marriage the wrong way right from the start. They got married too young—just a few weeks after graduating from Delta High School. Dad was barely 18 and Mom was still 17. They hadn’t really dated anybody else. They had kids way too young, and they had too many of them. And then they did an extraordinary thing: they paid attention to each other for decades. They constantly nurtured their relationship and managed to stay in love until forever.

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Every Sunday Should Be Easter Sunday—For The Fancy Clothes Alone.

Here is yet another picture of all my siblings (plus 2 honorary siblings) long before I was even a thought. Clockwise, beginning with Mom holding Rob; Julie Crane; my Sister Who Wishes To Remain Nameless; Ron; Wendy Crane; Mercedes/BT. If I had been available on Earth to be in the pic, I would have been the one wearing a Church Bow Tie o’ the Day. As if you didn’t already know that.

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Friends O’ My Folks

If you’re from my hometown of Deltabama, UT, you probably know some of the folks in these slides. You won’t see Dad anywhere because he must have been the official photographer.

I can’t find any ties or bow ties on anybody, but Mom’s cat sunglasses at Hoover Dam certainly qualify as Sunglasses o’ the Day. Check out her wild pants too. From left to right: Helen Barney, Mom, Peggy and Grant Crane. There’s no date on the slide, but I’m guessing they visited Hoover Dam together in the early 60’s.

The other two pix were taken in our living room, long before I was born—probably the mid-50’s. Again, Dad was the official photographer. I imagine Mom catered the affair. The dinner party must have been a celebration, but I can’t tell exactly what that might have been. The fashion is snappy, eh? I can identify most of the guests: Mom is in the middle of the second slide, wearing red and her apron. Also at her table are Helen and Joe Barney. At the next table, you can see Peggy and Grant Crane, and—I think—Donna and Clark Cox. Glen Gardner is sitting in the chair under the lamp, and his first wife, Irma, is to Peggy’s right. I don’t remember the names of the other couple, but I do remember them.

My fave thing about the third slide is how Peggy Crane has thrown back her head, overcome with laughter.

I just realized something. Mom is the only one in the pix who is still alive. Our family is lucky. I might have to break in to the care center to see her soon.

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Well, If It Ain’t The Goose Whisperers!

I can forgive Dad for not wearing a Tie o’ the Day to go goose hunting. Dad is the taller dude on the left. His hunting buddy is Joe Barney. They were friends from practically the minute they were born, and it shook Dad horribly when Joe died far too soon. This slide is undated, but a safe bet would be that it was snapped in the mid-50’s.

See how Dad and Joe apparently mesmerized the geese into letting the mighty hunters tromp right into their little geese gaggle. Golly! It’s as if the geese practically leapt up into Dad’s and Joe’s hands. See how the geese look exactly alike. If I still hunted, this is how I’d do it. But I’d be wearing a bow tie while I hunted. One of my camo bow ties, of course.

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Speaking Of Masks…

Hey! Here are three pics of me sleeping. That’s it. Nothing more, nothing less.Bow Tie o’ the Day across my eyes is one of the larger bow ties I have in my collection, which allows it to function perfectly as a sleep mask. Ain’t no light gettin’ through my sleeping eyelids while I’m wearing this.

I didn’t realize I used to sleep in a laundry basket. We must have been poorer than I thought.😉 You can see I’m having my fave early-kidhood snack: I’m suckin’ my thumb, while clutching my blanket. What a life o’ luxury I lived, even then!

The photo of me sleeping in the bassinette is proof of the one and only time I’ve slept with no worry written across my forehead.

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Siblings? What Siblings?

I was born an only child, with four siblings. My oldest sibling (Mercedes/BT) is 15 years older than me. My Sister Who Wishes To Remain Nameless is 13 years older. I have no recollection of them even living at home when I was a child. By the time I was beyond my toddlerhood and into a full-blown childhood, Ron and Rob, who are 10 and 6 years older than yours truly, were teenagers—which means they were never home. And then they were out building their own adult lives. I was home alone, sibling-wise, for most of my growing up. My nature is that of a lone wolf, so having the run of the house to myself suited me just fine. It was as if my parents had their family, and then I sort of wandered in from the Pre-existence and made myself at home.

Bow Tie o’ the Day in these pictures is the bow tied on my hoodie. Note my cork gun is present in one pic, so there’s no question of my paternity. The pup you see there is the family dog, whose name was actually Dumb Dumb—which is weird because the word “dumb” was kind of a swear word in our house. You could not call anyone “dumb.” No matter how dumb they were.😉

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Duh! And Duh-er!

Skitter’s nose sticks out from under her blanket, which shields her from the cruel world.

I was working away upstairs in my Psycho Bunny-brand Tie o’ the Day this afternoon, just peacefully minding my own business. Okay, I admit I was singing too, which some will say is not a peaceful sound. Anyhoo… I made the bed. I folded clothes and put them in drawers. I got lost in my chores. Somebody’s dog kept barking up a storm outside, with that high-pitched yappy bark of smaller dogs which I cannot abide to listen to. But on I slaved. I made a stop at the computer in the loft to check my email, and then I got lost in doing that for way too long. That dang dog kept going. But the yapping reminded me that a couple of doors in the house had been squeaking, so off I went to the garage to find the WD-40 to solve that problem, which I did.

After returning the WD-40 to its spot in the garage, I decided it was time to crack open a frosty can of sparkling water and spend some time sitting with Skitter on the couch. But the dog I could still hear barking outside was getting on my top nerve, so I decided I had to go find it and its person before I could finally sit down and relax with Skitter. I wanted to give both the owner and dog a lecture about how to be a good neighbor in the neighborhood by not letting your dog bark outside for two hours, driving the rest of us neighbors crazy.

As I approached the patio door to go outside, there it was! That infernal barky, yappy mutt was in my back yard, right out on the patio—on its hind legs, knocking its front paws against the sliding door to get in as it barked!

Ahoy! It was none other than my very own personal dog, Skitter, herself. I had completely forgotten I had put her outside to potty before I started my round of chores. I have never, ever done anything remotely like that to our little rescue darling before. I make it my business to always know exactly where The Skit has parked herself, and that she feels safe in her environs. It’s my job. Golly, I oughta fire myself.

The poor, tortured thing! O’ the trauma I unintentionally put her through! The horror! The horror! Gee, I feel about a centimeter tall right now. Skitter wasn’t shaking too bigly when she came back in the house, although she was a little hoarse when we howled together as we were reunited. Other than that, she seems to be recovering from her temporary terror just fine. I, however, am still quaking in my cougar-print Sloggers at my enormous mistake.

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Pandemic Hair Was Inevitable

Got barber scissors? Tie o’ the Day has plenty.

Remember two years ago when I was growing out my hairs because y’all voted for me to grow it out for a whole 12 months? And remember when my hairs got so hideous that I created Hairs Thursday here, so you could see whatever hairsdo I could muster at that point? Well, I am inadvertently at it again. My last hairscut was at the beginning of February, right before we visited Nashville and then went into pandemic mode. I’m like Mom: I am picky about who cuts my hairs. In Centerville, I refuse to have anyone but Miss Tiffany do the honors, and she has not yet been available to chop my locks and shave the right half of my noggin hairs.

It seemed like Hairs Thursday’s were a success in the TIE O’ THE DAY chuckle department, so I’m gonna do them again for however long it takes Miss Tiffany to fit me in for my shearing.