Category: Stories

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A Night Above The Town

A few days before Christmas, we celebrated our 6th Anniversary (legal). After a bazillion years of being together, we got hitched in 2013 the minute we could. It was in between court decisions. No time to plan. No time to have a party. It was a kind of shotgun wedding, between court decisions. We were just glad to git ‘er done successfully.

This year we celebrated the occasion with dinner at The Roof, overlooking the Salt Lake Temple and the Christmas lights at Temple Square. Bow Tie o’ the Evening was formal and X-mas ornament-y. We had a dazzling view. We got THE best table. Our waiter was kind enough to snap our picture with the bright view in the background. He seems to have used a photography technique which I can only describe as the make-the-people-in-the-photo-appear-blobbed-up-like-fat-squatty-toads technique.

You know I’m into giving anniversary gifts based on the “traditional” type of gift which corresponds to the number of years. For example, wood is the traditional anniversary gift for the 5th anniversary. Last year, I scored bigly points with Suzanne by managing to procure her some wood crochet hooks.

The traditional 6th anniversary gift is something iron or candy, and I had a heckuva time coming up with something clever. I did manage to find earrings made of iron, as well as an iron necklace for Suzanne, cuz she’s always ready for jewelry. But I wanted to give her something more. And then I remembered something I saw as a kid in what I now call “old lady houses” or “Arsenic and Old Lace houses:” a vintage, purple slag glass, IRON-shaped CANDY dish filled with Hershey’s Hugs and Kisses. A two-fer. Score! Suzanne loves it. She was born with “old lady house” knick-knack likes.

The first purple slag glass, iron-shaped candy dish I was able to locate online was $29,000. That’s not the one I got for Suzanne. It doesn’t cost $29,000 to be clever with a traditional anniversary gift. I’ll hip you to what Suzanne gifted me for our anniversary, in the next post.

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Putting Away The Holidays

Today, I’ve been rounding up the holiday neckwear to store until next year’s Christmas season. The ties and bow ties are now hibernating peacefully in their storage bins, out in the garage. As I’ve mentioned previously, there is no more room in the Tie Room to hold my holiday neckwear year-round. I think of the seasonal neckwear in the garage as living in an elite, festive, planned retirement community. I prefer that to thinking of them as shunned and cast out from the Tie Room. I do check on them every couple of months during their hibernation period. It’s a habit I have.

During the storing o’ the merry neckwear this afternoon, I did find a casualty. It’s my Make Your Own Ugly Christmas Tie o’ the Day pal. A few years ago, I glued X-mas objects to it all by myself, as anyone can see. I even glued google eyes to Tie’s “knot, ” so it could have a face. I don’t know where they googled to. I found and saved two pom-pom balls that fell off at a Christmas party last year. Tie is missing other stuff, as well. It is kind of funny to see the glue spots left behind after objects have made their escape. But Tie expired from natural causes today, after I made the decision it was time to cease all resuscitation efforts. It is now whole, I am sure, in the Great Tie Heaven Beyond.

Note that I had a Ties.com box, which was totally appropriate and tie-sized— to lay to rest my home-made Tie o’ the Day.

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Puzzling A Neckwear Surprise

We haven’t put together a puzzle in years, but for some unknown reason I got the puzzle bee in my bonnet about 3 weeks ago. Since then, we have assembled 6. We aren’t tired of puzzling thus far.

This was one of those mystery puzzles where you read a fictional story of an unsolved murder, then you put the puzzle together— without knowing what the assembled picture is supposed to look like. The completed puzzle picture contains clues which aid you in your search for the fictional murderer.

Imagine my surprise when an untied Tie o’ the Day came together in the lower left corner of the puzzle. It’s even adorned with a diamond tie pin. It was kismet!

And just for your information, Tie o’ the Day was not the culprit.

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Got Glitter In Your Hair?

Bow Tie o’ the Day is covered in Santa-hatted yellow labs, but for the sake of this story, think of them as white coyotes. Bow Tie’ll fit this Baltimore story better if you do.

After teaching writing to adults for years at The University of Utah and Salt Lake Community College, I made a switch to teaching middle schoolers in Baltimore. It was culture shock in a variety of ways, not the least of which was that I was a white woman from a heavily rural state in a city whose residents are primarily black. ALL of my middle school students were black. We shared our culture shock with each other.

During a class I was teaching in my first year at Booker T. Washington Middle School, two girls named Keisha got into a verbal argument. I heard one chair slide out from under a desk, then a second chair, and I knew what that meant: FIGHT! I managed to jump over a row of desks and land right between the Keisha’s before one of the Keisha’s fists almost hit the other Keisha’s face. My face was in the way of its trajectory, but the Kiesha with the fist was able to redirect her fist quickly enough that it barely grazed my ear. The other Kiesha said, “Dang! You old white coyote.” I knew enough to know it was not meant as a compliment. I had ruined what the two Keisha’s and the rest of the class thought would have been a bloody fight.

But I chose to take being named a white coyote as a compliment anyway. A coyote is swift. A coyote can leap. A coyote can sense danger. The class waited for me to respond to the almost-fight, and to what they called “being called out my name.” They were waiting for The White Coyote to dispense consequences. I ignored the whole fight stuff. The Keisha’s sat back down. I said, “I’ve killed coyotes. My dad showed me how. Have you ever heard of “calling in” a coyote?” And they paid attention to every word I said about coyotes, and how important coyote hunting was in my family. They asked questions. They were focused. They learned. It was a teacher’s dream: a teachable moment. I had them in the palm of my teaching hand until the bell rang.

The next morning, my assistant principal came to my room before school and said to me, “I was walking past your classroom yesterday, and I noticed you weren’t teaching punctuation. You’re supposed to be teaching your students punctuation this week.” So much for teachable moments.

Yeah, cuz punctuation is the most important thing in the world to learn about. Not.

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A Short Gangsta

Tie o’ the Day is spot-on for this post. I’m going to tell you about, Kavon, a drug dealer gangsta who occasionally showed up as a student in my class when I taught middle school in Baltimore. I don’t mean he sold a little pot and a few pills to the other middle schoolers. I mean, he was an upper-tier dealer.

Kavon was 16, and he was still in the 8th Grade. He dressed the same way every day: Tommy Hilfiger khakis; Timberland boots; and a NEW, pressed, white t-shirt. He wore gold bling: gold earrings; gold Rolex; and at least 3 herringbone gold chains around his neck at a time.

Kavon read well, and he was bright. He showed up in class just enough to barely pass. He told me he had better things to do with his time than sit in school, but his grandma was nagging him to “graduate” from the 8th Grade. He was determined to “walk across the stage” at the end of that year for his grandma to see, then school was over for him. When I asked him why he thought he didn’t need an education, he walked to the classroom window to show me something. “That’s mine,” he said as he pointed to a new creme-color Lexus with gold rims, parked at the foot of the stairs to the school entrance. It was the nicest car in miles. It was also in the best parking spot at the school.

I explained various ways getting an education might be a better long-term plan for him. I said, “Kavon, with your brain, you could be a doctor when you’re 25.” He didn’t skip a beat, and replied, “Ms. Wright, I’m not gonna live to be 25.” I told him that was exactly my point, but he couldn’t see it. That was one of the things that made me truly understand the lack of hope my students had, based simply on the neighborhood they were born into. By the neighborhood’s standards, Kavon was already the biggest man he would ever be. He was a success.

Kavon pointed out the window at his car again. “I bought my grandma a car for Christmas too— exactly like mine.” He was proud of himself. He told me he had paid cash for both cars.

I don’t know how, or if, things ended for Kavon in the 25 years since then. If I go by statistics, I’d have to say he probably went to prison a couple of times, and then got shot and killed during a drug deal, on a street corner by Booker T. Washington Middle School.

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Skitter’s Our Little Reindeer

In this photo, Skitter and I are modeling two versions of the same Tie o’ the Day theme: Christmas lights in reindeer antlers. Although she might appear to be, Skitter was not traumatized by posing in this photo with me. I promise. She’s always a good sport when I say to her, “Skitter, we need to do a TIE O’ THE DAY thing.” She doesn’t run away and hide or get extra-shaky when I get in TIE mode with her.

Six years ago this week, this little scaredy dog let our fam-damily adopt her. She’s a rescue dog, and she had been through a hellish puppyhood before we brought her into our home to be treated like the Queen o’ All Mutts. We are guessing she was about 1 when we got her, which makes her 7 now. We don’t know from what breed she hails. Our best guess is that she is part Chihuahua and part Whippet, so we say she is a Whippet-huahua. If you ever get the chance to watch her run, you will see all-out “Whippet woosh” in her speed.

I almost named her Bambi because she looked like a fawn when we first saw her at the rescue, especially when she curled up. But she was skittish to the core. Hence, her name had to be Skitter. I’ve written posts remarking that Skitter vibrates when she’s out in the world, and she honestly does. As time goes on, she vibrates at a lower level of vibration. Sometimes her vibration is invisible to anyone who isn’t me or Suzanne. I’ve been asked, “How can Skitter be happy if she’s always afraid of everything?” My reply: “Well, she only vibrates around people, places, things, and ideas. Other than that, she’s fearless.” Seriously, she is a happy dog. She knows she is loved and safe. She expresses a range of moods beyond fear. We do, however, realize her skittishness will never completely go away. Unfortunately, whatever abuse she suffered as a puppy is a part of who she is.

We think Skitter has adjusted relatively well. She loves to jump in the car when I say, “Let’s go for a ride,” but she shakes the entire time we drive anywhere— including to Delta. She loves visiting Mom. She hardly vibrates at all anymore when we spend time at Millard Care and Rehab. When Skitter’s sitting on Mom’s bed there, she doesn’t shake.

When we walk to the mailbox, Skitter doesn’t vibrate anymore, but she still keeps her tail between her legs. I’ve taught her how to howl when Suzanne gets home from work. Even though her own howling noises startle her, you can tell Skitter’s proud of herself for knowing how and when to do it.

I admire Skitter. She doesn’t let her fears keep her in her crate all day. Despite the abuse she suffered before we familied her, she’s still willing to trust that we’ve got her skinny canine back. She knows it’s a crazy world. She knows it can be a mean world. Still, she faces each day with oodles of hope and wonder. Sometimes I think she’s better at being a grown-up than I am.

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The Christmas Box

Suzanne gets the Billy Bob Thornton BAD SANTA Bow Tie o’ the Day Award today. A few years ago, I posted a photo of this same sealed box, on which Suzanne had so elegantly scribbled the “detailed” contents. I simply want you to know— in case you’ve wondered— Suzanne still has not yet opened the holiday box, let alone gone through its mysterious trinkets and decor. The sad box sits quietly on a top shelf in the garage, lonely, counting down the years until Suzanne finds time to set its contents free and determine their fate.

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Weirdest. X-mas. Card. Ever.

I spent most of the 90’s teaching Creative Writing in an arts-centered middle school in inner-city Baltimore, MD. If you’ve seen the HBO series THE WIRE, then you have a pretty good idea what it was like where I taught. Poorest part of the city. Highest crime rate in the city. Highest murder rate in the country during some of the years I taught there. A 70 percent unemployment rate for adult black males in the city. Almost 100 percent of my students lived in public housing. Almost 100 percent of my students qualified for free lunch and breakfast, as well as free bus passes. Probably half of the students I taught had been passed along year after year in elementary school, without learning to really read. Even literacy was impoverished on the west side of Baltimore.

All my students were black, and I am the whitest white person ever to walk the planet. As I’m writing this, I can think of a thousand stories of my Baltimore adventures y’all might find interesting. For a long time, I couldn’t talk about my exploits there to anyone but Suzanne. Let’s just say teaching in an inner-city public school is not the best job to have if you are bipolar. And boy, am I bipolar! But I think I can talk about it now, so I’ll make a point to share Balto stories in the future.

But for now, suffice it for me to say that one of my 6th Grade students drew and colored this fine picture as a Christmas card to me, in 1994. His name was Deonte, and he gave it to me with such pride. He truly meant it to represent joyful holiday wishes for me, even though it more accurately represented his deadly neighborhood. I have treasured its unique perspective for all these 25 years.

I share this “Christmas card” with you here, with one of my A CHRISTMAS STORY Bow Ties o’ the Day. I still remember when Deonte handed me the picture as I was leaving the school building for Christmas break. When I saw it for the very first time, all I could think of was, “You’ll shoot your eye out!”

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In A Pinch

SnHOman Tie o’ the Day is here with a bit of fashion accessory advice. If you find yourself at a Christmas party, and you realize you forgot to wear your holiday earrings, simply mosey up to the nearest decorated X-mas tree. “Borrow” a couple of ornaments, and VOILA!— you’re all set. In fact, I think I’ll start a fashion trend by doing this sort of thing on purpose. I suggest replacing the “borrowed” “jewelry” before exiting the party at the end of the evening. You don’t want to end up being escorted to jail in “bracelets” when the party’s over.

BTW You can never have enough leg lamp-themed trinkets.

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The Incredible Ho. Ho, Ho.

I’m full to the brim with the whole Christmas PEACE-LOVE-JOY spirit. In fact, about two seconds after I snapped this photo, I was hit with a jolt of goodwill to all which was so intense that my celebratory emotions physically overcame me— causing the seams of my clothing to burst apart and the fabric to rip. Meanwhile, my body turned an effervescent hue of X-mas green. To compose myself, I had to escape the clamoring Dick’s Market crowd, and so I ran home, red-faced, in my green body, tattered clothes, and massive spirit of love for all humanity— proudly waving my NIGHTMARE BEFORE CHRISTMAS Tie o’ the Day behind me.