Category: Stories

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Table O’ Contents

I spend time on the oddest things. For example, I wanted to make the title of this post both true and punny, so I thought about it for a while, then dumped out my Saddle Purse on the dining table. Voila! “Table O’ Contents.” I think readers like discovering tiny, clever details in what they read, and the writer has to put them there to be discovered. It takes more work than you can imagine.

Cleaning out my first and last purse (I hope) for the very first time was eye-opening. I won’t explain the entire haul that had grown inside the saddle. You can tell what most things are, and you know their uses. But I do want to highlight a few items.

The cowboy hat belongs to Skitter, although I have worn it a couple of times. She wore it last week to Delta when we didn’t find Mom. Once she realized Mom had busted out for the day, and she wouldn’t be seeing Grandma, Skitter got pouty and hung her head so low her hat kept slipping off. Into the purse, I put it. The hat is perched on my Triple Combination (Mormon scriptures, for you heathens out there). I had put the book into my purse Sunday before I went to church with Grace Anne, and I hadn’t taken it out yet. The lens on top of my Triple Combo is my monocle. Yup, it’s the monocle I’ve been looking for throughout the last few weeks. I’ve missed it.

The red booklet is just what it says it is: a copy of The Constitution. It’s always a fine read when you’re waiting somewhere in a long line. This copy is usually in the center console of my car, so I’ll return it to its spot. I don’t know how it got in my Saddle Purse.

In fact, as a fledgling carrier of a purse, I can attest to the fact that it’s a mystery how most of the things I found in my purse today got there. It’s as if purses magically become the way stations on the journey to where items really belong. And sometimes, like with the tobacco pipe you see here, things get into purses because they don’t have a place to be. I have no Pipe Room, you know. The reason I have a pipe is no more complicated than the fact that sometimes what you’re wearing just needs a prop pipe. I suppose what I really need to do is create a Prop Room, but we don’t want a bigger house. More importantly, I ain’t movin’ again.

Total # of notebooks found in the purse: 6. Total # of pens/pencils, including 1 CTR pencil: 10. Clip for a thick stack of papers: 1 gigantic pink one, which Suzanne brought me from a work trip in Augusta, GA. The red Snoopy/Christmas tree bow tie is a spare, one of my “stunt” ties. It’s one I carry “just in case.” Also, I’ve been carrying around my spiffy watch to help me remember to take it to the jeweler for repair. The spiffy watch hasn’t yet helped me remember to take it to the jeweler for repair, as you can see.

The orange and black tube at bottom, center in the photo is my generic EpiPen injector, filled with epinephrine to counteract my allergic reactions to bee stings. I carry it with me at all times. The SMARTIES are the size of quarters!

The dial-looking thing above the EpiPen is a pack of spare batteries for my hearing aid, which my ear doc insists I call a hearing “device.” Just above the CUTTER spray, you can see one of my headlamps. I honestly don’t remember exactly when I needed a headlamp in my purse, but I can pretty much guarantee it had to do with being able to read and/or write in the dark without bothering anyone.

Oddly, one of the material objects it would be difficult for me to be without is the bright orange matchbook-looking thing to the right of The Constitution. It is designed to be like a matchbook, but instead of matches, it contains Post-it notes. It makes me laugh every time I see it. It never gets old to me.

But do you “see” what I didn’t find in my Saddle Purse? My wallet! I had to go upstairs and search for it. I finally found it in the back pocket of a pair of my shorts, in the dirty clothes. I try to keep my wallet in The Saddle Purse, but I have decades of a wallet-in-back-pocket habit to overcome. Besides, before this morning’s evacuation of the purse, my poor thin wallet couldn’t have fit into anyway.

BTW Feel free to ask about any of the items that cluttered my Saddle Purse. The last snapshot is the end result of its first bigly overhaul.

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The Cleanin’ Out O’ The Saddle Purse

Every few months, I see the contents of Suzanne’s purse dumped out on the bed. I have learned this means it’s time for her to ferret through the contents, making decisions about what goes into the garbage, what gets filed where, and what gets returned to the empty carcass of the purse.

In April, when I finally bought the one and only purse I’ve ever owned, I vowed my Saddle Purse would never need one of these bigly archaeological digs for relevant purse inventory. Of course, I was wrong. In the short amount of time I have owned and used a purse, I have come to the conclusion that a purse naturally fills up to its gills. It’s the work of a purse to carry what we think we need, and we always need far too much. We put things in it, because it’s there.

My observations of Suzanne with her purses tells me the size of the purse doesn’t matter. She has all sizes of purses, and whatever purse she’s carrying at any given time inevitably ends up overflowing. The smaller the purse, the quicker the next purse-cleaning happens.

This morning, I opened The Saddle Purse to what you see here. It was time. Some things must leave the purse. How in the world did this happen? I have become a true purse lady.

These photos show the closed Saddle Purse (with Bow Tie o’ the Day sticking out), the opened Saddle Purse, and the dumped-out pile of its contents. Stay tuned for the next post, where you will see the complete inventory. And let me say right now that even I was surprised at a couple of things I found inside.

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My Eyes Are Open

Tie o’ the Day is only one delightful part of my carefully chosen ensemble. I had to hie to a speshul Homeowners Association (HOA) meeting at the Centerville Branch of the Davis County Library system a few evenings ago. Suzanne was attending her book club, so I was on my own. People, if you have never been to a HOA meeting, consider yourself lucky.

No matter how important any topic on the agenda of these meetings might be, the meetings are kinda dull. I have not yet fallen asleep in one, but as I get older, it gets harder to keep the old eyeballs and earballs on the task at hand. I mean– there are pages of numbered articles, rules, laws, bylaws, and notes to suffer through. Snore. So I came up with this clashy attire, hoping to keep me and my fellow meeting-goers awake with the warring of my fabric patterns and colors. You’ll just have to use your imagination about how the cut-offs and cowboy boots added to the look. I didn’t think to take a photo of them. And don’t think I didn’t have The Saddle Purse on my shoulder.

I could have skipped the HOA meeting altogether, but I don’t want to take the chance the other owners might vote for something stoopid. In fact, there is one old bat owner (the truth hurts, but it’s still true) who seems to read the HOA bylaws as religiously as some people do their daily scripture study– and she wants everyone to know it. Her interpretations of the rules often do not have anything to do with the real legalities involved. In fact, the simpler the rule, the more she seems to have to fuss about it.

As a responsible member of my community, I consider it part of my duty in life to cancel out this woman’s wacky HOA vote, whenever necessary. And I want to be in the meeting to see it canceled. I take no glee in her defeats, but canceling out her HOA vote ensures the rest of us reasonable community regulations.

At this particular meeting, she piped up about the inadequate length of the towel hooks hanging on the swimming pool restroom doors. She spent a bigly chunk of time on that “issue.” I had to suppress my urge to hand her $10 so she could go across the street to Home Depot and buy a screwdriver and whatever size towel hooks she wants on the pool restroom doors. I wanted to tell her I’ll even switch out the hooks myself if she just won’t make us spend one more boring moment of our collective time listening to her talk about this “calamity.”

But I sat there, quiet and polite. I always do. I listen to her with an open mind every time, hoping for an important and/or useful idea to come out of her mouth. There’s nothing “wrong” with the woman. I think the woman wants to contribute. I think she wants to be knowledgeable. Most importantly, I think she wants to stretch out the length of the meetings because she is just plain lonely. That the woman is lonely is an assumption Suzanne and I share, after spending many HOA meetings with her.

Folks, there’s always more going on with people than meets the eye, and you might not always be able to learn exactly what it is. Simply be patient, always. Simply be kind, always. And remember: You’re not dead yet, and you just might find you’ve become a lonely old bat in your own belfry one day, in need of the exact right towel hook and a friend who knows how to really listen and not be rude. Just sayin’.

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Grace Anne Update!

Remember picture day in elementary school? What I most remember about it is that girls came to school with their hair all done up in ways they never wore their hair before or after that day. Their hair did not resemble their “true hair.” Fortunately (or unfortunately) for me, I had basically the same short, straight-bang haircut until I was 11, and nothing could be “done up” with that. My hairs always looked exactly like themselves, even on Picture Day.

Grace’s current hairdo is similar to my kidhood cut. Minions Bow Tie o’ the Day declares Little Miss Gracie-thang was in fine form yesterday when I and my SWWTRN mauled and squeezed her to bits before and during church at Bishop Travis’ Provo ward.

One of Bishopette Collette’s sisters and her husband visited Gracie’s ward yesterday as well. Bishopette Collette sat between both sides of the family, so she could fairly referee Gracie’s time spent with each of us. We all seem to be pretty good Sharers o’ the Grace– at least while Bishopette Collette is looking, and we’re sitting on a pew in Sacrament Meeting. Sharing is good, boys and girls. Choose The Share! (Seriously, Collette’s family is amazing, and I wish I knew them better than I do.)

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Skitter Isn’t A Horse, But She Can Be A Nag

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.

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A Bigly Day For Pioneers

Bow Tie o’ the Pioneer Day, combined with Shirt o’ the Day, shares some Utah state flag colors with us, minus the gold. I wish to share a few Pioneer Day tidbits o’ trivia.

Did ya know that Pioneer Day is officially a celebration of more than just the LDS pioneers finding their way to the Salt Lake Valley? It’s dedicated to everyone of any faith and any nationality who emigrated to the Salt Lake Valley during the pioneer era, which ended with the completion of the transcontinental railroad in 1869.

In 1886, the Pioneer Day celebration was more of a mourning than a celebration. The Salt Lake Tabernacle was decorated in black bunting. Latter-day Saints who were in hiding or imprisoned for polygamy offenses were eulogized.

You can now attend Pie and Beer (sounds like “pioneer”) Day parties, held by those who find the official July 24th festivities a bit too confining.

Traffic-wise, according to the Utah Department of Public Safety, Pioneer Day has the state’s second highest holiday traffic fatality rate. (July 4th has the highest.)

My own personal Pioneer Day trivia is that I once ate a chocolate-covered, “Mormon-Cricket”-on-a-stick which I bought for $2 at a food booth at Sugarhouse Park. I ate the crunchy critter while we watched the 24th fireworks there one year in the 80’s. The sticked bug tasted okay, but I didn’t need to consume seconds.

FYI The Mormon Cricket did not taste like chicken.

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It Takes A Pickles Gap Village

The same day we drove to check out the amazing Toad Suck (as described in this morning’s post), yellow flower Bow Tie o’ the Day and I made sure we got to Pickles Gap. Pickles Gap Village is a tiny conglomeration of a half-dozen businesses on a bigly Conway, AR corner property. Pickles Gap Village boasts a playground, restaurant, fudge shop, tiny outdoor concert venue, 2 clothing boutiques, and “antique” stores. I use the term “antique” to cover the likes of thrift stores, secondhand stores, vintage stores, consignment shops, as well as antique stores. Whatever term you want to give these stores, they were everywhere we went. They were as ever-present in Arkansas as the churches. I expected boatloads of churches, but the prevalence of antique stores was a bigly surprise.

Suzanne spent so much time in one of the combo antique/boutique’s at Pickles Gap that I was certain she had moved in. She ended up finding “birthday” jewelry, of course. And “birthday” clothing, which was not a birthday suit. She already has one of those. I saw the blinged-out bow tie purse, but I didn’t need it. I have The Saddle Purse, so I shall forever pine for no other purse.

We enjoyed the antique store owners. They loved their stores. They loved each and every item on the shelves, and they knew stories about the objects and their people. Chatting with the salespeople was enlightening and jovial. We felt at ease and valued in every business. The owners/salespeople were interested to know our stories too. They asked as many questions as we did, I think.

Hey! In one of the Pickles Gap Village antique stores, I spied this little trough of plastic toy soldiers, with a thoughtful reminder to pray for real soldiers.

A common farewell we got from salespersons in almost every business as we left was, “Have a blessed day!” I loved saying, “You, too” in response to that sentiment. It doesn’t matter if you’re a believer in any god or religion, or in the idea of blessings. It matters that you can recognize others are telling you they wish your life to be smothered in good. They want to send positive vibrations your way. Look for those vibes/blessings. Find them. Be grateful for them. And then, send the hope back out there.

Have a blessed day, folks.

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The Bigly And The Not-so-bigly

At the end of our Blanchard Springs Caverns tour, we had to be taken by bus back to the entrance and visitor’s center parking lot. Our tour guide and the bus driver told us we MUST visit the nearby waterfall. We didn’t even know the waterfall existed. They assured us it would be worth our time to drive there because it was spectacular. They let us know we could even swim and walk under and behind the waterfall. They had me wishing I had worn my stripey, old-timey swimming suit that day. We listened carefully to the detailed directions they gave us, and we left the parking lot determined to find this scenic, watery wonder.

We found the ‘fall, as shown by the photo. The waterfall’s not-so-bigliness is not a trick of photography. We are standing about 20 feet from it. Even magnetic, wood polka dot Bow Tie o’ the Day was disappointed. Suzanne and I just kind of stood there for a few minutes, stunned. We knew we were at the right waterfall, cuz other tourists were there gawking at the thing, but… I have a difficult time thinking folks in the Ozarks– or tourists to the Ozarks– think this is a breathtaking waterfall, so I’m mystified about what makes it visit-worthy. Is it just the ONLY waterfall in the Ozarks? Well, I know that can’t possibly be the case. We left that sight pretty quickly, then drove to Mountain View to grab some lunch, and window-shop before heading back to our condo in Fairfield Bay.

[Mountain View ended up being an unexpectedly memorable place for me. It’s where Suzanne found a cowboy boot place she thought I’d be interested in. She wrangled me in through its door, and I found my cowboy boots. More on the boots, in a future post.]

The lawn chairs photo shows the entrance to the resort where we stayed in Arkansas. The chairs are as oversized as the waterfall was puny. In fact, I think the chairs are taller than the waterfall. I’m estimating the chairs are around 9 feet tall. I should have placed bow ties on them, or sat on one myself before taking the pic. That way you would have a more accurate idea of the chairs’ size. I’ll be honest with you though: when I stopped to take this snapshot, I was grouchy. It had been a long day, and I was hungry, tired, and needed to pee. All I wanted to do was get back to the condo. I slept like a baby that night, but I ran out of vacay time to go back and stage me and the bow ties on the chairs for proper photos. I guess I’ll have to go back so I can get those shots for y’all. Arkansas is a do-over for me.

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Can’t See The Trees For The Forest

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.

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I Got My Wings, After Whining To The Flight Attendant

The day we flew away to Arkansas, whose nickname is apparently The Natural State, was also Suzanne’s birthday. She joins me in the double nickels of 55-dom. The photo here of Suzanne and her birthday “cake” is from two birthdays ago, in Delta– our last summer there. I am proud of the potato chip cake I made her. Suzanne and potato chips are tight. I’m betting this cake’s one of her fave birthday cakes ever. Hint: Don’t ask her to share her potato chips with you. You will lose an arm or two. If you wanna eat chips, it’s strictly BYOC.

Because we were in planes and airports on her birthday this year, it wasn’t possible for me to throw Suzanne a party. But as I sat on the plane, I suddenly remembered the potato chip cake from 2017, so I bought Suzanne the teeny, teeny, teeny can of Pringles they sell on the plane for bigly dollars. The it’s-Suzanne’s-birthday-so-she-must-be-presented-with-potato-chips tradition lives!

For her birthday, I gave Suzanne something she deserves. I gave her peace and quiet from me. I can be tiring, and she needed a break– especially before a bigly dose of vacation with me. On the flight from SLC to Atlanta, we watched different movies. On the flight from Atlanta to Little Rock, our seats weren’t near each other, and I didn’t do what I’ve done before on the rare occasions when that’s happened: I didn’t persuade other people to switch seats so Suzanne and I could sit together. Nope, I sat in my assigned seat four rows behind her. I gave her an intermission from the variety show I seem to have been born to be. I gave her all the stillness one can get in a commercial jet plane filled to its gills with passengers.

BTW I also knew she would find “birthday” jewelry in Arkansas. I was exactly right about that.