Category: Stories

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Any Mention Of BYU Makes Me Think Of Trav

Pink Bow Tie o’ the Day brings the extra large– to bigly remind you October is Breast Cancer Awareness Month. This wide, fat style of bow tie is commonly referred to as a Big Boy. I found this one at a company called Phat Knot.

As for the BYU hat… All I can say is that although I am a U of U fan, through and through, I have to give props to “The Y” every now and again because Bishop Travis and Bishopette Collette both work there. They themselves keep that institution of higher learning functioning smoothly. That might be stretching the truth just a little, but not much.

You should see Travis and Collette in the same room together: No matter what else is going on around them, you can almost see their adoration for each other seep out of their pores. It’s not a sappy thing to behold. It’s not a matter of public displays of affection. It’s as if some sort of love halo forms over and around them when they are together. They remind me of my parents in that way.

If everyone had that kind of love in their lives, the planet would be automatically transformed. Having that kind of love in your heart makes it impossible to have any desire to do harm to another human being.

I hope you live in the “love halo.” I know I damn sure do. ❣️ 😇

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The Invisible Tie Woman

I needed a clothes hanger to help out Tie o’ the Day this morning. My face feels too tired to be in a photo. Sometimes that happens. And also, I’m planning to scrub the bathroom later, and I ain’t gussying up for that task. I hereby declare Pajama Day for myself. Suzanne’s just gonna have to miss out on a pj holiday until this weekend.

Despite the fact that I still need to take frequent pj days while I’m healing up, my daily to-do lists are getting longer and longer, as my surgery gets farther in my rearview mirror. For almost a month after my hospital adventure, my only daily chore was walking to the freezer for Popsicles, if Suzanne wasn’t home to retrieve them for me. And since Popsicling was my only chore, I didn’t even need to write a list.

After a few more weeks, I added a few routine chores to my to-do’s. Things like folding clothes, putting dishes into the dishwasher, driving myself to my own doctor appointments in my car, etc. Oh, and going to brunch. That’s my favorite-est chore of all.

I can cook and make the bed and do my own laundry now, so I write those tasks on my list. (I have never ever been allowed to do Suzanne’s laundry, for no discernible reason except that she has OCD about it, and is compelled to do it herself.) I can empty the dishwasher and put the clean dishes and pans in their places now. I can roll the garbage and recycling cans to and from the curb. I can run errands in my clutched truck. I grocery shop again. I can de-poop Skitter’s droppings from the back yard on Wednesday’s, before the HOA lawn dudes show up to mow.

An unfortunate thing about my torso feeling better, however, is that I am once again able to put on a bra. I no longer have an excuse to not wear a breasticle girdle. I hate when that happens.

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Dr. Bow Says, “Later”

Bow Tie o’ the Day added some zip to my appointment with my pain doctor, Dr. Bow, this afternoon. She was pleased with Bow Tie, but not so pleased with my current pain situation. Oh, apparently I’m healing up from surgery just dandily. But there are enough tweaks and jabs going on in the vicinity of my belly right now that we decided it’s probably best to not change anything pain medication-wise, until my belly brouhaha calms down. In a few months, I should have a much more accurate gauge of my intricate pain situation.

How bloody long does this recovery take? I’m losing my patience with not being able to do every last thing I want to do. I want my way. And I want it now. And my way is to go about my regular activities without worrying about pulling some innard or another. And I want to ditch my pain meds– or at least knock ’em down a notch– if I so desire. And I do.

What truly scares me is the fact that my Whipple procedure might not ease any of my pancre-ass pain. My surgeon told me before we scheduled the surgery that even a successful operation still might not solve the pancreatic pain issues. He said there was no guarantee the operation would diminish one iota of ouch.

Apparently, pancreatic stones are not like gall stones or kidney stones. With gall stones and kidney stones, if you get rid of the stones, the pain goes with them. Not necessarily so, with pancreas stones. But after almost twenty years of trying to deal with my panky, my pain had worsened to the point that I couldn’t stand it anymore. I decided it was worth taking the risk– hoping it will eventually relieve some of the agony.

Also, I could no longer stand Suzanne constantly pestering me to take the chance and go under the knife. Her nagging me to give in and have surgery was another kind of pain. A pain in the butt, to be precise. Don’t you just hate it when somebody wants what’s best for you? It’s such a pain to be loved.

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Button, Button, Who’s Got The Button?

As you can see from some bare bins and shelves, Suzanne still hasn’t finished filling The Ultimate SewingBox. She wants to get her supplies situated in just the right places, so she’s thinking things through extremely carefully. She’s even experimented with chairs– like Goldilocks– to find the perfect one for her height and butt.

In one of those bins, on one of those shelves, lives an ever-increasing population of buttons. She has the buttons. But I have the button Bow Tie o’ the Day. Actually, I bought Bow Tie for Suzanne to wear while working at her sewing machine. I thought that would make a good post photo. But I am insanely greedy about my bow ties. Every once in a blue moon, I can share. But I couldn’t share this one, even though it was my sincere intention to do so. I think I’m jealous that Suzanne can craft and sew and play with buttons, and I can’t do any of those things. Bow Tie is the only way I can play along. It’s the only way I can be part of the sewing agenda.

I mean– I’m resting in the recliner today, and since an entire wall of the living room is taken up byThe Ultimate SewingBox, it’s impossible to not gaze upon it constantly without even trying. Oh, I like it, and I told Suzanne I wanted it here in the living room, so she’s not going to always be shut away in a 2nd-floor room, being crafty all by herself. We would never see each other because she would never come downstairs again.

Sometimes, though, I feel left out of what goes on in the living room since the arrival of The Ultimate SewingBox. When Suzanne had a couple of sewing machines on the table, I didn’t feel left out like I feel now. But now that The Ultimate SewingBox has taken up residence here, Suzanne is more obsessed with it than either of us could have predicted. On the other hand, I guess I really did know this would happen.

And that’s why I bought us a 65-inch TV, which is far too big for the living room. It takes up a bigly amount of space on the wall adjoining The Ultimate SewingBox wall. It’s the only way I can compete. It’s the only way I can distract my eyes from focusing even their peripheral vision on Suzanne’s object of eternal joy. Two can play at this game. I’d like to see Suzanne try to ignore me and that TV now.

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Multiply, Replenish, And Magnify

I’m wiped-out from yesterday’s day trip to Delta. Clearly, my stamina’s improving but it still sucks. It’s only driving, you know. Before she left for work, Suzanne gave me strict instructions to do absolutely nothing that requires movement today, so Bow Tie o’ the Day and I are camped with Skitter on the recliner, where I’m reading in my new blinged-out reading glasses.

I finally broke down and admitted to myself that my old pair of reading glasses wasn’t cutting the reading mustard. Off I went to Walmart to search for a stronger prescription. I discovered that when it comes to reading words on a page, I am almost completely blind. For a few years, I used a magnifying glass when reading, but holding it got in the way of me using the remote. Can’t have that. That’s when I got my first readers.

I wore bifocals for a time, but they made me dizzy and gave me headaches. It’s worth it to me to switch glasses depending on what I’m doing. It’s a pain in the butt, but it’s better than wearing one pair of glasses that makes you want to carry around a barf bag.

What I learned as a kid from watching my parents use reading glasses is that reading glasses are like the scissors and the scotch tape. You can never find them when you need them. It’s as if those three objects conspire to play hide-and-seek without letting you in on the game.

To counter this where-did-I-put-that? phenomenon, there is only one solution: Buy more than one of each. Hell, buy a case of each. Scatter them through the house. You’ll still never find them when you need them, but at least you’ll have a better chance.

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A Mad Dash

Tie o’ the Day and I made a lickety-split trip to Delta and back. We spent the day with Mom, who could not quit telling me how much she loved Tie. I picked it out to wear especially for her because Mom has this thing for witches. She always says she’s a witch. In fact, she and Peggy Crane each claimed to be the witchin’-est witch of them all. They tried mightily to out-witch each other. Mom claims to be a witch because Dad used to ask her every Halloween if her broom was sharpened for the holiday.

I drove down to D-ville for the sole purpose of checking on Mom. Already. She’s been in the Care Center less than a week, but I had to see for myself how she’s adjusting. OMGolly! She’s a popular old broad– with family, friends, and staff.

And this photograph is evidence that she’s got a healthy appetite. She was eating so intently that she couldn’t turn around for a photo with me. And that would have been an exceptional picture because she had her sunglasses on. She’s sitting with her longtime buddy, LaRae. They always eat together like they did when Mom was in the Care Center last year, recovering from her broken hip.

Mom says she’s content. She says she doesn’t want any of us to think she’s not happy right where she is. I asked her if she was telling the truth about that, or was she just saying she liked it in order to make us all feel better about the situation? She went on for at least five minutes, listing all the things she liked about being there. Of course, she mentioned the Atkinson’s regularly coming to sing– more than once. And she mentioned Sing Along– more than once. Oh, and the food’s good. And she can get her hair done whenever she wants. And she also mentioned she might get her nails done. And then she mentioned Sing Along again.

Speaking of singing, she said she enjoys having so many visitors there fawning over her that she sometimes feels like singing. I told her that wasn’t a good idea– except during Sing Along– if she wants the staff to let her stay. Talk about Halloween and horror!!! Mom and I not only share the same name, we share the same frightening singing voice. It’s ghastly. We are both smitten with music, but music is not smitten with us.

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This Is Only A Test

Cape o’ the Day meets Tie o’ the Day! Is this my kind of day, or what? Suzanne’s cape factory concocted this cape in a flash yesterday. Remember: This is just the practice cape, made out of the cruddy, yucky, “useless” fabric. But I think Suzanne did a fantastic job. I can’t wait to show this to the neighborhood. And I can’t wait for my real capes, to be made with decent fabric.

Yesterday, only after trying on the cape and giving its design my stamp of approval, I decided to pick out my own fabric for a couple more. Suzanne had an extra-thrifty JOANN’s coupon that was good only from 4-6 PM, so off we went to shop for material during that time. Guess who else was there. Every sewing and crafting aficionado in Davis County was there with us– with their own extra-thrifty, 4-6 PM JOANN’s coupon. And how many cashiers were checking out the customers? One.

Suzanne picked out fabric for one of my capes. I picked out fabric for two more. And then I went to the car to listen to music and nap while Suzanne stood in the line at the register. Forever. I certainly got the better of the whole deal. I got to listen to THE LUMINEERS and BAND OF HORSES. I got to have a nap. Meanwhile, Suzanne grew roots standing in the forever-long line AND had to pay the bill.

Poor Suzanne. She can’t wait until I have my energy and strength back, so she doesn’t have to do all the practical, tedious things by herself– and the big chores too, of course. She says she doesn’t mind that I’m a slug since surgery. But I mind. After the first two weeks following surgery, I’ve felt like I’m a drain on her and everyone else around me. I feel like I’m even a drain on myself. Feeling that way has taught me an unexpected lesson: Being responsible for yourself and your own wants and needs– bigly and small– gives you confidence and courage. I can feel mine slipping. I need to be useful to myself and others in order to get back my inner strength.

And now I’m going to ask Suzanne to cook me a steak and pour me a Diet Coke and find the remote I put down somewhere and find my bow tie slippers and let Skitter out to potty and fill Skitter’s food and water bowls and…  Oh, I feel my self-image worsening as I give her these orders to pamper me.

But I’m still gonna nag her to sew one of my real capes today while I watch General Conference. 😉

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Nuts For Bolts

I’m sporting a super-slim Bow Tie o’ the Day this afternoon. Bow Tie and I have got our eyes on Suzanne’s productivity. Here, she’s ironing some material from her Leaning Tower o’ Fabric. She’s prepping to do her first Ultimate SewingBox project. And guess what? For her maiden project, she’s making something for little ol’ me. She’s making me a cape. Finally. I’ve wanted her to make me one for years. I’ve wanted her to make it to help me become The Caped Tie-sader. I think buying her The Ultimate SewingBox guilted her into finally becoming my cape factory.

Sure enough, she found a cape pattern at JOANN’s in St. George. She’s experimenting with it today, so she’s using some useless, old, crusty fabric to make the prototype. We’ve gotta see what design will work, according to my capey desires. Suzanne has to design it perfectly before we spend a small fortune on my chosen cape fabrics. You know I will want more than one cape, if I find this one to my liking.

When I refer to the test cape being made of “useless” fabric, I am saying that any normal person would see that the fabric is “useless.” A normal person would have scrapped these scraps long ago. Suzanne, however, is not normal. There is no piece of fabric on this planet that is “useless” to her.

Oh, I know Suzanne is not the only one. A lot of y’all giggle in anticipation of a trip to a fabric store. Suzanne and some of y’all salivate at the sight of fresh bolts of material being put on the racks at MOM’S CRAFTS. But really, if a scraggly piece of nearly disintegrating material has lived a good, long life in the bottom of a musty drawer that hasn’t been opened in three decades, put it out of its misery. Or make me a cape with it.

[The next time you see me and a tie here, I am confident we will be wearing a cape designed and handmade by Suzanne, The Patient Seamstress and her Ultimate SewingBox.]

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So That Is How My First Name Got Real

Double-wood Bow Tie o’ the Day says I should explain to my Delta friends how my first name and my middle name seemingly switched at some point in my life. My full, legal name is Helen Eileen Wright, and until I graduated from DHS and left Delta, I went by the name, Eileen. I don’t know why, but that’s what everyone had always called me.

When I had to begin filling out all the paperwork that comes with being an adult– like college applications, job applications, rental applications, my passport application, etc.– it was so complicated to keep using my middle name as my first name, because my Social Security card had my “real” name on it. So I became Helen. I also have been referred to as Helen, Jr., Li’l Hel, H. E., Helen E., and prob other variations I can’t recall right now. I’ve been known as Helen for almost twice as long as I was Eileen, so it’s almost impossible for me to think of me as anything but Helen, although I’m just fine with either name you’re comfortable using for me.

When the switch happened, I found that I liked the name Helen better than Eileen. Nobody ever got the spelling right on Eileen. Helen was more me-ish. And what I liked most about making the change was that there aren’t many women who have their mothers’ names. I do, and I have always looked up to Mom, so her name was something I’ve strived to honor. It’s inspired me to be more like her. Wearing her name has definitely made me a better woman than I would have been otherwise.

What this whole name thing means is that I’ve had a childhood name and an adult name. Depending on what name you use to address me, I know– and everybody else knows– when you first knew me.

When my parents were trying to come up with a name for me, they were stumped. I was almost named Melanie. And then I was almost named Rhonda– so they could have yet another “Ron”  in the family. They settled on the name of one of Mom’s nurses, who was such a key part of Mom recovering from my birth, Eileen Boothe. Mom had nearly died giving birth to me. Dr. Bird had to give her a half-dozen blood transfusions, and he told her, “No more babies, Helen.” (And then Dad had a little operation. 😉)

Anyhoo… Dad was giving me my baby blessing, and when he got to my name, he named me after Mom. She was surprised. They had never talked about doing that. He told Mom she’d had a difficult enough time having me that I should have her name. I’m grateful he did that. I try to honor it, knowing I will forever fall short. But I try.

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Now We Can Spill The Beans

I swore bandaged, broken hearts Tie o’ the Day to secrecy, but now we can tell you. Our little trip to St. George this week has been a secret mission. We didn’t want to say anything until the process was completed, but we hereby announce that we’ve packed up Mom and taken her back to Delta, where she will live out her next century in the Care Center. (It’s official name is different, but everybody refers to it as either the Care Center or Extended Care.)

Our family has seen it coming. We’ve worked hard to take good care of Mom for as long as we could. We wanted to keep this day from coming. Although we know it’s finally time for this, it’s still a hard transition for us and for Mom to make. It’s the beginning of Mom’s last chapter.

After she broke her hip last year, the best place for Mom to recover was with my brother, Ron and Marie, in St. George. Marie is the Queen Bee o’ All Nurses, and Mom’s doctors are in Dixie. Mom’s been pleased to live with Ron, and she was able to spend more time with her grandkids there. Ron and Marie have been more than generous to have her in their home. Ron says it has been a privilege to have Mom with them. We appreciate Ron and Marie more than words can hold. But now it is time for Mom to make her final move to a new residence.

About three years ago, Mom decided it was time to quit driving. She handed over her car keys without being asked for them. Of course, we had all been ever so subliminally hinting to her for quite a while that it would be a good idea to let the driving part of her life be done, for the safety of everyone involved. And then one day, out of the blue, she came up with the idea to give up her car keys. It was HER idea. Wink. wink.

That’s what’s been happening with this move. We’ve all hinted and hinted to her for a few months that it’s time for this change, and then VOILA! Suddenly, Mom had this brilliant idea that she should move into the care center. It was completely HER idea.

She’s been a good sport through her last couple of years of health adventures, although things have been bumpy at times– as is to be expected. She has missed her house. She has missed her Delta friends and family, and she is eager to reacquaint herself with her Delta people now. (But she will always be a bit lost in Delta without Dad, and without her best friend, Peggy Crane.) I know most of you are part of the herd o’ folks she has missed.

Give Mom some time to get adjusted in her new digs, and then feel free to give her a visit for a few minutes every now and again, if you so desire. You know how she loves to chat with her friends. You’ll most likely need to introduce yourself to her at first, but she’ll know who you are after that. She turned 88 last week, so she has 88 years worth of friends and family to recall, and that’s a lot of names and faces to keep straight.

She’s still spunky and irreverent in her playful way. And what makes our family happy is that she still enjoys her life. She exudes gratitude for her blessings– which, of course, she thinks of as all of us. Isn’t that a nice thought? My mom, Helen A. Wright, thinks of you as one of her life’s blessings.

And now, Suzanne’s going to drive us home to Centerville while I cry and wonder if we did the right thing for Mom. Which we did. But still…

Hardest. Day. Ever.