Category: Stories

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Dressing For Chores

All paisley, all the time. See, you can have a common thread to your outfit, while still creating the proper clashion. Hat o’ the Day, Cufflinks o’ the Day, Shirt o’ the Day, Vest o’ the Day (which I named the Pimp Vest), and– most importantly– Bow Tie o’ the Day combine to create a clash extraordinaire. I think this is some of my top work. I’m a proud momma of my fashion creation. Paisles are my fave “shape” with which to work my unmatchiness. I suppose my goal to clash makes me a non-matchmaker.

Perhaps I am overdressed for my day’s tasks. First they are all tasks I need to do at home. Cleaning, laundry, etc.. I will probably leave the house only for Skitter’s walkie. But what I’ll be spending most of my task-time doing is going through the storage bins and boxes in the garage, looking for ONE thing: a shoebox-sized box which holds half-a-dozen cassette tapes I recorded with my Grandma, Martha Anderson in 2000.

Grandma had fallen and broken her hip and shoulder. She was in the Delta hospital for a week or so before she could return to her apartment in The Sands. I stayed at the hospital with her each night. Well, Grandma must have gotten all of the sleep she would ever need in the preceding decades because she did not sleep. So we talked. At some point I started to record her stories. When I showed up at the hospital each night, I turned on the recorder and let it go. I haven’t listened to them for years. Life gets busy and you forget to do important things like that. Shame on us.

I know I still have the tapes somewhere, because I remember packing them up in Delta when we moved the contents of the Delta house up here. But I have no clue in which bin I so safely stored them. My biggest concern is that the tapes might not still be in playing condition after nearly two decades. I’ve kept them safe, but I can’t keep them safe from the passing of time. I no longer own a cassette player, but Betty/BT/Mercedes (whatever name you call my oldest sister) still has the one she got as a prize on WHEEL OF FORTUNE in the 80’s. She’s the family genealogist, so these tapes belong with her anyway.

I remember one startling moment during a night with Grandma, which I so wish had been recorded. After Grandma went back to The Sands from the hospital, I still stayed with her most nights. She stayed in a hospital bed in her living room, and I took over the couch.

One night, Grandma finally fell asleep for a few minutes. I started to nod off, when suddenly Grandma loudly said, in her sleep, “Isn’t it funny about horses? How they have sex, you know.” She stayed asleep and never uttered another word until she woke up a little later and asked me to get her some of her “cheesies.” Cheetos. Of course, I happily got her a bowl of cheesies. I did not ask her about the dream she had just had. But I really, really, really wanted to.

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Oops! Doh!

Bow Tie o’ the Day and I present one of the hairdo concoctions my current hairs are capable of becoming. I call it “The Reverse Ponytail With Wings.”

I’m sure y’all think living my clashion way o’ life is an easy way to live, but I have limits to my clash and style. I try not to offend anyone with my attire or be disrespectful of where I am. Interesting style is who I am. Enjoy. Period. I feel a responsibility to my neckware/style to be snazzy, dapper, eye-catching, etc., not rude or obnoxious. I especially do not strive for my style to be such that people question my sanity to the point they think they should call the cops. This morning at the Dick’s Market, I saw a reflection of myself in the glass doors to the ice cream. I felt like I should call the cops on myself. “Haul me away, officer! Take me to the loony bin! I know not what I do!”

Here’s the scoop. After I took this post photo, I turned my hat around and then sat down and made a grocery list. I then donned my wintry cape, and then I drove through the snow to the store. I’m shopping and crossing items off my list. I’m saying a howdy to familiar faces. All is well.

I always go to the ice cream aisle last, so I can get my cold tubs home before the ice cream melts. So… I’m approaching the ice cream doors– which I call The Pearly Gates– and suddenly, there is my reflection. There I stand: a 54-year-old woman in a snowflake cape, wearing an un-matchy bow tie, which is all wonderfully me. But then I see I have basically the same hair as in this photo. I had forgotten to brush my hair back into some sorta order before I left the house. Yes, my hat was turned the right way at least, but the hairy wings over my ears were still being wings. And somehow the reverse ponytail had wrapped itself around the hat as I had turned it around.

Unfortunately, I did not take a photo of my accidental-style self in Dick’s. I wanted to snap one cuz I knew it would be entertaining. But there was more OOPS! and DOH! I had left my phone at home, which has happened only three times in twenty years.

But do you know what really kills me? When I first went into the store, I stopped at the pharmacy and chatted with my pharmacist about all kinds of topics. We are Dick’s Market friends. We conversed for at least ten minutes, and she said absolutely nothing about my hairs. Oh, she complimented Bow Tie and my cape, as well she should have. But how could she not know that I didn’t mean to invent this hairs/hat display? That’s scary. Clearly, she and everyone else I knew at Dick’s took it in stride, like they almost expected me to walk in looking like my head should be in a freak show.


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Thumbing A Ride To PT

Argyle Bow Tie o’ the Day is another of my wood bow ties which attaches to a shirt with a magnet. Bow Tie’s magnet makes it a perfect choice for a collar-less shirt of any ilk. Bow Tie and I spent a couple of hours at physical therapy this morning, and my thumb accompanied us. It photobombed us. My Thumb o’ the Day is now on the website in this photo and is, therefore, a star.

A few of the routines I am assigned to perform at PT require me to use a long stick, resembling a cane. It is wood, and it’s about the same length and diameter as a cane. The staff calls it “the wand.” I have been working out my shoulder with it for about a month now, and none of the million spells I’ve cast with it have come to pass. Even Harry Potter couldn’t make this wand work. Hey, it’s a piece o’ wood! But still, I try. I cast my spells and hope.

Sometimes “the wand” inspires my spirit, prodding me to jump off my therapy table and dance with it as my cane– like Gene Kelly in the old movies. Or I want to tap dance with it as my prop as if I’m on a vaudeville stage. Yes, I’ve cast a spell to make those things occur, but that spell hasn’t worked either. So far, I’ve remained an old dame awkwardly pushing and pulling and pointing a stick in various directions.

I do admit that although my rotator cuff still hurts, it’s not debilitating like it was. Miracle? Hard work? Spell? Maybe a wee bit less pain is the biggest spell I can make the wand perform for me. I’ll gladly take it.

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I Love Me My Capes!

Baseball Bow Tie o’ the Day tells you I’m ready for Summer to get its butt here ASAP. It’s not just the cold. It’s the mud. Skitter brings mud into the house every time she comes in from pottying. I have to dust pan and Swiffer at least three times a day. It’s not as if I can tell Skitter to remove her paws before she enters the house. And training her to wipe her feet ain’t gonna happen.

The most important part of this post photo is clearly my newest Suzanne-made cape. The clash it adds to my shirt, tips the scales way over the clash-snappy limit. I win. Whatever the fashion competition, I win. My cape is a superpower all by itself. I haven’t had it long enough to have determined exactly what superpowers it gives me, but I’ll let you know when I find out.

I can say for sure that when I wore it in MCR last week, a few residents did stop in mid-sentence to gaze at its billowy, unfurled-ness as I passed through the halls. It at least has the power to cause momentary speechlessness.

The cape didn’t make Mom one bit speechless though. She complimented the cape, then she went on and on about what a talented seamstress Suzanne is. There I was, in person, with Mom in her room, after driving 2 1/2 hours to visit her, and all Mom could talk about was Suzanne. Of course, all I talked about was Suzanne too. And Skitter. We talked about Skitter, who Mom couldn’t quit petting.

Skitter had to get used to my capes when I began wearing them a few months ago. They whoosh around as I walk, and they are large compared to coats. Occasionally, a cape hem brushes across Skitter’s back. It frightened her at first, but she learned to tolerate it. She tolerates the entire cape thing now because she has no choice .

I usually wear a coat when I take The Skit for her walkies. But for the rest of the outside world, I wear a cape. When I drape a cape on my shoulders, she knows she’s not going anywhere (except when we visit Mom). When I put on a cape to go out alone or with Suzanne, Skitter puts on her I-know-I’m-not-invited, pouty face. I think Skitter blames the capes for her being left alone– as if they’re my new pets and I’m taking them for secret walkies without her. Perhaps Skitter needs her own personal cape to wear, and to play with when I’m not home. I’ll speak to Suzanne, the resident seamstress, about that.

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I Can Lift Big Books

I threw on this bookshelves Bow Tie o’ the Day in order to sit down to breakfast. These dictionaries and thesauri are my metaphorical meal. I am eating my words about how I didn’t think physical therapy for my rotator cuff would do anything except prolong the time I’d have to be in pain until the insurance company would ok some surgical repair of the damn thing. I didn’t hold out much hope for PT to make the pain in my shoulder livable. PT was painful and debilitating. At first. Although it began oh-so roughly, it has begun to help– enough to put off the surgery I and those in charge of my rotator cuff were sure would be happening about now.

I know myself pretty well– the good, the bad, the ugly. And one positive thing I can tell you about me is that I am quick to apologize when I’m wrong. If I’m wrong, I like to know. I don’t care about my ego. Saving face doesn’t matter. Being right for the sake of being right doesn’t appeal to me. I’d rather be corrected than pretend that the truth isn’t true. “Dear PT, please accept my apology for treating you like you were useless. You are not.” Apology given.

I’m crossing my fingers my PT regimen buys me at least another couple of years with my crappy old rotator cuff. If my shoulder pain doesn’t get in the way of me getting through a normal day of living, I won’t fuss about it. I won’t press the issue. I will keep doing my incredibly complex exercises like “the shrug.” Yes, I have to shrug. That’s a big part of my regimen: shrug, relax shoulders, shrug, relax shoulders, and so on. Hey, who am I to argue with it? It seems to be helping.

Now about this photograph: First, I want to emphatically declare I LIKE BIG BOOKS AND I CANNOT LIE.

Second, these different editions of the same information were milestones in my recovery from surgery. They are variations of The Oxford English Dictionary, which is the authority on the English language: spelling, meanings, origins, etc. There was a time in my life when I wanted the complete version of the OED, but I would rather own a house. I had to decide between one or the other. The official, complete OED is 120 volumes long. That would be an extravagant, indulgent purchase. Instead, I have a few much smaller versions that do the trick of aiding me in my serious writing.

After my surgeon stole 2/3 of my pancreas at Huntsman at the end of June, he told me I was forbidden to lift anything over 1-2 pounds for a couple of months. The tiniest Compact OED set in this picture weighs 2 pounds, so after a week or so, when I felt like writing again, I could lift them and use them, with only the slightest pains. OED Milestone #1. Score!

After the third week of my recovery, I figured it would be okay to pick up the the one-volume Pocket OED Dictionary/Thesaurus edition, which weighs 3 pounds. (How large must a pocket be to hold this Pocket OED?) I began using the book within a month of my surgery. Lifting it resulted in only a tug or two in my gut. OED Milestone #2. Score!

I wasn’t quite sure about graduating my lifting limits to the two-volume Compact OED Dictionary and OED Thesaurus. Each of the volumes weighs 4 pounds. I played it conservatively and didn’t pick them up until the end of the second month of my recovery. Just a strain or two in my gut. OED Milestone #3. Score!

And now, the two-volume New Shorter OED. Each of these volumes weighs in at a touch over 7 pounds. I was hesitant to pull these off the bookshelf long past the time I’m sure I could have done it without causing damage to my innards. Despite having conquered the smaller editions by the end of the second month of my convalescence, I held out picking up these tomes past the four-month mark. But I finally began freely using them in October, resulting in just a pinch of a pinch in my gut. Milestone #4. Game! Set! Match!

And yes, I do need and use every one of my OED reference books..

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Wrestling With A Dilemma

Bow Tie o’ the Day adorns Mom as she poses in front of THE PORCH, in 1948. Momo and Popo’s porch was a huge part of my life as a kid, as well as Mom’s and my life after they were gone and I bought their house. After Dad died, Mom spent time on my porch two or three times a day, when weather permitted. She occupied the porch alone, or with me when I was in town. During the last year of Peggy’s life, Peggy joined us at least once almost every day. We watched the comings and goings of the neighborhood, and we solved all the problems of the world. If only the world listened to our brilliant ideas.

I mentioned in my last post that I have decided to post fewer (and maybe zero) new photos of Mom doing TIE O’ THE DAY. It’s recently become a concern I’ve been cogitating about.

Although I began TIE O’ THE DAY around four years ago, I’ve posted interesting pictures of Mom on Facebook for at least a decade. I started after Dad died. After some of the humorous photo posts starring Mom, my brother, Ron, left a message on my phone. He had seen one of the silly photos of Mom and he asked me if Mom knew I was posting them. He wondered if I might be being disrespectful to her by doing it.

When I called him back, I assured him that I okayed every post with Mom before posting it. In fact, I told him, the reason I didn’t answer his call– the reason he had to leave me a voicemail– was because Mom and I were sitting on the porch when he called, busy reading the funny and loving comments left below one of her posted photos by friends and family. Mom had been laughing so hard at some of the responses that she began laugh-crying. Mom loved the comments, and she loved reading the names of those who LIKEd the post. Some people who responded were people she hadn’t seen or thought about in years. When I told Ron the whole thing, I think he understood.

But here I am now, finally having my own reservations, based on Mom’s current situation. Let me be clear: I am so pleased with the photos taken by the staff at MCR, which are then posted to their Facebook page. I like being able to see Mom and knowing what activities she’s participating in. I’m glad MCR does it. Following their Facebook page lets me check in on Mom from 145 miles away.

But what I do is different. I usually use the photos I take of Mom as part of posting sarcastic, snarky, sometimes irreverent things here on TIE O’ THE DAY. Before taking the photos, I sometimes give Mom a bow tie or silly hat to wear, and she’s always been a sport about it. In fact, there have been times when I’ve visited her or she’s stayed with us when she’s excitedly said things like “When do I get my tie? When are we going to take our picture?” or “Are you going to take our tie picture? Do I need a hat?” And, of course, after I’d post a “tie picture,” I made sure to read her the Facebook responses and the list of folks who sent their LIKE’s. She has always found the whole process quite joyous.

Here’s my quandary. At this point, Mom sometimes doesn’t quite have her bearings. Her mind is sometimes confused. She forgets. Recently, I pulled out a tie for her to wear for our “tie picture” and she asked me, “Now what am I doing with this tie? Why are we doing this?” Mom is not a prop. I know you all like seeing photos of her. Posts with her photos always get the most Facebook LIKE’s. But I refuse to take or post a picture of Mom if she doesn’t know why I’m doing it, and hasn’t okayed it– in her all-there mind. I won’t do it without her permission. And I know y’all wouldn’t want me to.

On the other hand, what do I do if Mom brings it up, and asks to do it? Can I trust her “permission” now, even in those moments when she seems completely in charge of her faculties. I suppose I will have to decide on a case-by-case basis.

What I do still feel entirely comfortable doing is posting old pictures of Mom, taken throughout her life. I can write posts that reflect them. I am equally sure Mom is/would be amused with how I put ties and bow ties on the photos. She would not find that disrespectful. Mom had and still has her sense of humor.

Most of you are Mom’s friends. Some of you have been friends with Mom before you became friends with me. I’m sure some of you have recently had my same concerns. Just know that if I do post a more current picture or two of Mom, be assured that I spent time thinking about whether it would truly be ok with her for me to do so. Ultimately, that judgment falls on me, and I don’t take that responsibility lightly.

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Mom Is Very Quiet Here With Us Today

Mom likes the color orange. It was a no-brainer to pick the Bow Tie o’ the Day I am wearing to type this post, which covers the time I spent at MCR, aka, the Care Center, with Mom yesterday. I didn’t get to spend enough time with Mom. Never do. Never will. So I dug out this photo of Mom in her mid-teens, and Skitter and I are hanging with her again today, if only in photograph spirit.

I don’t tell Mom when I’m coming to visit. I just arrive in her doorway. I would hate it if I told her when I’d be there, and then something came up to make me unable to show up then. I’m not big on canceling on Mom. Nor should any of us be big on missing appointments with our elders. Anyhoo…

When Skitter and I entered Mom’s pad, Mom had just gotten back from breakfast and was under her covers, prepped for her post-breakfast/pre-lunch nap. Skitter knew a good situation when she saw one. She immediately jumped right up on the bed, curled into Mom’s side, and told me to leave them both alone to doze.

Skitter felt so much more confident and at ease at MCR on her second visit. She did not shake or shiver this time, even when people spoke to her or petted her. Skitter was able to keep it at a low vibrate. Skitter is such a hit with the residents she’s met that there is no way in heck I would dare show my face at MCR without being accompanied by her. We’re a team.

My cousin, Gina Diaz, and her daughter Haylee dropped in to check on Mom while I was there. General nuttiness and storytelling ensued. I don’t know if we three Wright old broads entertained Haylee or if we scared her. We laughed, chuckled, chortled, guffawed, snort-laughed, etc. When we get going, we cause all of the various types of laughter. Gina asked me to model my new cape, which I did. Both sides! And a few minutes after Gina and Haylee left MCR, I called myself a very bad word in my head. I was angry I hadn’t thought to capture Gina and Haylee with me and Mom in a TIE O’ THE DAY photo. Next time.

While at MCR, my Sister Who Wishes To Remain Nameless (SWWTRN), and I and Skitter attended a little meeting with Mom. Apparently, at MCR each resident (and the resident’s family) has a casual, but documented, meeting with those who are ultimately responsible for each aspect of their care: meds, nutrition, counseling, etc. At these gatherings, residents are asked if they have any comments, complaints, issues, suggestions, etc. that need to be addressed in order to improve their care, as well as to improve the total MCR experience itself. (I assume MCR does this with the residents at regular intervals. I need to ask about that.) Mom has no complaints about MCR whatsoever, and she gave only high praise to those in charge of her. She loves the MCR experience.

While we waited in the lobby for Mom’s MCR meeting to begin, she was antsy. She asked, “Did I do something wrong? Was I supposed to fill out a paper?” No, Mom. I and my SWWTRN tried to settle her. I mean, she wasn’t upset, but she wasn’t relaxed about it either. She was a bit apprehensive probably because it was her first meeting. We tried to explain the purpose of the meeting was for her and those in charge of her care to check-in with each other about how things are working. I had to actually say these words to bring Mom down a notch: “Mom, they aren’t going to kick you out.”

When the conference room door opened for us to go into the meeting, a half-dozen or so MCR staff members were waiting for us at a long table. Mom jokingly asked them what she was being called on the carpet for doing. I told Mom she’d be fine if she just acted like she was there to get her Temple Recommend.

The meeting went smashingly. Mom is not kicked out of the Care Center. So far. I did tell her she forgot to complain about all the sexual harassment she has to endure at MCR. She said it was ok she forgot to mention that. She must not mind it. (har, har, har)

I must also report that Skitter enjoyed sitting-in on Mom’s meeting immensely, although she chose not to contribute to the discussion. She’s shy, you know.

FYI The next post will be about the reason I will no longer take lots of photos of Mom, for these posts.

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A Bow Tie For Physical Therapy

Fear not! The next post will regale you with tales of my visit with Mom at MCR yesterday. First, I gotta head out to my rotator cuff physical therapy, and I thought you might be interested to know wood Bow Tie o’ the Day goes through my PT regimen with me.

You’ve seen me wear ties and bow ties with my t’s and tanks, and I simply wear them tied/hooked around my collarless, naked neck. But I thought there must also be other, less neck-sweaty ways to wear my neckwear with collarless shirts. Found one! If I wear a t-shirt or tank top, these wood bow ties which attach to your shirt with magnets are just the ticket. I have a handful of wood-and-magnet bow ties which work effectively and fashionably for just such occasions, including physical therapy. CAUTION: DO NOT WEAR MAGNETIC WOOD BOW TIES IN MRI MACHINES! Doh!

One day last week, I forgot to attach one of these groovy bow ties to my t-shirt before I went to physical therapy. When I walked through the front door of the PT office, the receptionist told me she would need to see my ID before she would allow me past her to the therapy equipment. “Or,” she said, “you can come back in a bow tie to prove you are who you say you are.”

That means I’m famous, right?

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Good Thing I Took ‘Em To Her

Skitter and I and my slim-line Bow Tie o’ the Day had a blast visiting Mom in her MCR bachelorette pad earlier today. One of the first things Mom said to me and The Skit when we arrived was, “I need my sunglasses so I can see.” I handed Mom her usual shades from her table and she was convinced they weren’t her sunglasses, even though they were. She said they didn’t fit right. That was my cue.

Voila! I immediately pulled these bow tie-shaped shades from inside my cape, and Mom grabbed them heartily– as if she’d owned and protected them forever. Honestly, when I bought these sunglasses for her I didn’t know if she would actually like them. I knew I could get a jolly Mom-bow-tie-photo out of it, but I had no idea she would take to them so easily and so much. (The bow tie doesn’t fall far from the tree?) Mom wore them during our entire visit. And one of my MCR spies has already let me know that Mom is still wearing the bow tie spectacles, even as I prepare to post this from my house in Centerville.

I lost count of how many folks at MCR complimented Mom on how snazzy her new sunglasses look. I was especially grateful to Skitter for having had the presence of mind to remind me to put the speshul shades in the car before we headed out to Delta this morning. Saved by the Skitter!

Tomorrow, I’ll post more about our MCR playtime with Mom. I’m too exhausted from the quick roundtrip to do any further thinking.

BTW Skitter’s visit with Mom was just the thing her little doggie-highness needed. She got a part of her Skit-spark back.

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Another Safe Photograph

I thought Bow Tie o’ the Day and I should follow-up this morning’s clean post photo with another super-duper wholesome picture this afternoon, just in case Suzanne is still touchy about the January 5th morning post photo, which she considers to be exposing too many square inches of my pale, pale skin. How scandalous of me!

Here I am, snapped with my Kodak Handle Instant camera, back in the same days of the crazy sleepovers and my mooning. I am showing off my car door. It’s not my car door which belonged to my car. It’s my car door, which I rescued and took home. I found it in the middle of a gravel road in Sugarville. It looked so forlorn laying there all by itself, with its fair share of life’s rust, scratches, and dents. I thought it only right that I should be a Good Samaritan and provide it with shelter and love, so I adopted it. You have to understand: this was during the early-/mid-70’s– the era of pet rocks– so a pet car door didn’t seem all that outlandish to me. Occasionally, I drove it uptown to one of the gas stations, where I would unload it by my car and wash its window, to provide amusement for folks dragging Main. The car door’s window relished getting the squeegee treatment.

My car door lived with me until I went to college, where I couldn’t take it with me. I re-homed it before I left Delta, in 1981. I drove it out West to a farm near where I’d found it, where it could live out its earthly existence running fast and free in the fields of the Lord.

[FYI Skitter is a bit more active today, but not much. She stays zonked-out under her pile of blankets like she’s hibernating. She did decide to accompany me on the walk to the mailboxes late this afternoon. She hasn’t cared to go for a walkie for a few days, so that’s a getting-better sign. Skitter thanks you for the positive vibes you’ve sent her way. We think they’re helping.]