Category: Stories

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Mom Has A Dozen Pairs O’ Half-broken Reading Glasses

Bow Tie o’ the Day has been kickin’ it around the couch with Mom today, although we lost Mom for a few minutes.

This is our first Mom-sitting visit at Ron’s and Marie’s new abode, and I didn’t know if Mom had changed up her routine since their recent move. While they’re away, Ron gave me two jobs: don’t break Mom, and don’t lose Mom. (These are the same two jobs I give him when he’s got her.) This afternoon, when Mom told me she was going outside for a walk to loosen up her hip, I just assumed it was part of her new routine in her new place. Mom has never had a wandering-off problem, so out the door I let her go ahead of me while I went into the kitchen to find the mailbox key. With mailbox key in hand, Skitter and I went out the front door to join Mom on her walk, and to pick up the mail while we were at it.

Lo, and behold!

Where’s Mom? We looked left. We looked right. We looked hither and yon. We looked around this corner, and that corner. We looked under cars and in bushes and in swimming pools. No Mom. No Mom’s walker. She left no bread crumbs for us to follow. She left no half-empty Pepsi cans for us to follow. She didn’t peel off her clothes and leave us a wardrobe trail. I put Skitter onto her scent, but Skitter smelled nary a sign of Mom. I was truly afeared.

I retrieved my phone from the house and headed back outside and up the sidewalk. I was just about to do a bit of 911 dialing, and Mom and her walker showed up on the horizon. She was, in fact, fine. She was, in fact, going through her new usual routine. Apparently, there’s a bench a ways up the street where she sits to rest her walker and her behind during her daily strolls. Unfortunately, the bench is not visible from the sidewalk. Now I know.

Anyhoo… All is well. Mom is safe. I am not inept. Skitter had a St. George walk. And to top it off,  it was CHRONICLE-PROGRESS day! That mailbox key made Mom’s day. She loves her CHRONICLE.

Listen to me when I tell you that Mom doesn’t share her CHRONICLE with anyone on Wednesday’s after it arrives. If she dozes on the couch and you try to sneak her CHRONICLE off her lap, she snaps awake and clutches that newspaper like you’re trying to steal a grandchild. If you try to touch Mom’s CHRONICLE the day it shows up in Mom’s mailbox, you will not lose just a couple of fingers. You will not lose just a hand. You will lose at least an arm and a shoulder and your spleen. And while you’re writhing in pain and spurting blood on the floor, Mom will simply open up her CHRONICLE and read the obituaries to see if she’s in them yet.

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Guess Who’s In St. George Again?

Black-and-white Bow Tie o’ the Day paired up with my black-and-white Hawaiian shirt to go for an hours-long drive on these black-and-white seat covers in Suzanne’s car. We headed out to St. George to hang with Mom for a few days. She’s babysitting us and Skitter. Every now and then, Suzanne and Skitter and I need Mom to get us back in line.

When we arrived, Mom had us laughing within two minutes, and we haven’t stopped yet– even while Mom was eating her KFC chicken. It’s her Tuesday lunch. And I mean EVERY Tuesday she eats KFC chicken. Don’t forget the cole slaw, or she’ll send you back to get some. And get the largest size they sell. Mom’s got a thing for cole slaw.

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People Ask How It’s Looking

Spooky Tie o’ the Day and I give you an up-close peek at my scar’s current state of being. People who know I had my mid-summer surgery often ask to see my resulting scar– and not just family or super-close friends. I’m fine with showing anybody how it’s doing. But I find it so interesting that they want to see the thing, and that they dare ask to gaze upon it.

And it’s not like folks want to see it just once. They ask to see it all the time, which is exactly why I’ve posted photos of it occasionally. Apparently, people want to inspect it in all of its various stages of healing. They have no hesitation about asking to see a part of my body I would never otherwise show to the masses. I’ve thought about maybe cutting a hole in each of my shirts where the scar would be visible, so people could look at it without having to ask if they can see it. They wouldn’t have to talk to me at all in order to be able to behold it. They might even prefer seeing it without having to converse with me.

Sometimes people ask if they can touch my scar. Go for it, I tell ’em. It all reminds me of how people dare ask to feel the belly of a visibly pregnant woman they know. There are very few situations in our culture in which it is acceptable to ask to see or touch people’s body parts. And, of course, that’s generally a good thing.

As I said, I’m happy to show my scar to those who are curious to see it. And if they want to touch it, more power to ’em. I’d like to say that I won’t pull up my shirt to anyone while I’m in a church, but I did do that a number of times in the Oak City church at my Aunt Arlene’s funeral. I probably wouldn’t do it in Sacrament Meeting though– unless someone incredibly important to me asked to see and/or touch it. What can I say? I aim to please.

BTW   I’m making a list o’ possible names for my scar. Feel free to offer suggestions. TIE O’ THE DAY hasn’t had a contest for months, so if I end up choosing one of the names you suggest, you will be the winner of a Christmas-themed bow tie. (Max J. Tucker, you are disqualified from entering this contest, and you know exactly why.)

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Not Just Another Day

Today is THE day in my recovery from surgery that Bow Tie o’ the Day and I have most anticipated. This is the day I will once again lift and carry my ever-present Mini Keg. It can hold 100 ounces of whatever liquid I wish to be guzzling all day long. I’m definitely a Diet Coke gal, so Diet Coke will fill it to the brim. When full, Mini Keg weighs a whopping 5.4 pounds. I consider carrying it around to be my daily exercise. I guess I lift free weights. Okay, I lift one free weight– sloshy rep after rep after rep.

I know I have to be careful. I’m not going to push it. If I have to set down Mini Keg occasionally throughout my waking hours, I will give in and do that. I won’t want to, but I will do it– for the greater good o’ my health and welfare.

When I say Mini Keg is ever-present in my life, I mean it. It is my faithful companion. When I’m in bed, Mini Keg is on my nightstand. It rides with me when I drive. It grocery shops with me, while it sits in the top rack of the shopping cart. We are very close. I can tell Mini Keg anything, and I know my secrets won’t go anywhere else. Mini Keg is my sippy cup.

Why must I have Mini Keg with me at all times? For one thing, it’s a kind of bodyguard. If somebody tried to mug me, I’d simply hurl Mini Keg at them. That’ll knock ’em out! Or I could beat the hell out of the thug with my heavy drinking buddy. Mini Keg is my concealed-in-plain-sight weapon. No carry permit required.

Another reason I insist on carrying my liquids with me 24/7 is that my crazy-head meds make my mouth oh-so dry. I kid you not: If I can’t drink between sentences, I don’t speak in recognizable sounds. I might as well be having a conversation with you with a pint of peanut butter in my mouth. It’s not pretty. And my words are indecipherable, even to me. I must drink to be understood.

I’m sure I have a thousand other reasons, or justifications for carrying my drink baby. But the main reason I feel like a part of me has been amputated when I don’t have Mini Keg is that Diet Coke is my Mistress o’ Caffeine. Plus, it is tasty. I must know I have enough with me at all times, whether I drink the entire 100 ounces per day or not. To feel secure– and that I’ll be able to speak clearly– I must know it’s there.

BTW   Orange and black Bow Tie o’ the Day is here to signal it’s October, and therefore time for Halloween ties and colors. 👻

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Bow Tie Can Tell The Future

 

 

Here’s what Bow Tie o’ the Day knows with perfect certainty: Suzanne will get home late from work today, because that’s how she rolls every day. Even with The Ultimate SewingBox waiting for her– which is her dream come true– she will still be the brilliant educator she is, and she will put children first. She pushes herself to excel at her work, with the students always foremost in her mind.

But when Suzanne gets home, she will open up The Ultimate SewingBox you see here. And she will be single-mindedly engaged in the task of filling up The Ultimate SewingBox with her sewing supplies– prepping it for her current list of projects. She will not pass GO. She will not collect $200. ( If you don’t get that reference, I feel really bad for you. And I feel really old.) She will not pay attention to me, nor will she acknowledge Skitter. For her, this whole The Ultimate SewingBox thing is her Christmas morning, as it should be.

For me, watching Suzanne hobby around is like watching a litter of puppies play. You can’t not watch them, and you can’t not relax and smile at how seriously they take their playing. The day Suzanne isn’t sewing or crafting in some way is the day she will no longer be with us. And you can be sure I hope that day never comes.

You know how we’re encouraged to have food storage in case of some natural disaster, or a lost job, or the invasion of green aliens? I think Suzanne has decided she needs to store fabric and thread and sewing machines in case of any of these Armageddons. She’ll be sewing a quilt top, while we’re all fighting our neighbors in the streets for the last of the drinkable water. She will not die with her boots on. She will die cradling a bolt o’ flannel in her arms.

I should probably also pack her a 72-hour kit full of sewing and crocheting implements to carry in the trunk of her car. It’ll make us both feel better about the catastrophic end of the world.

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I’ll Never Be In The Doghouse Again

The star Neckwear o’ the Day is the Wild Rag o’ Last Evening worn by Suzanne’s nephew, Colton. He’s our very own The Ultimate SewingBox Assembler. Colton made it clear to me that wild rags are not scarves, and to refer to them as such is out-and-out wrong. I will refrain from even trying to figure out the difference between the two.

Ain’t Colton cute? Don’t you just wanna hug him? You can see his cute butt in one of these photos, also. It’s worth a look-see. Colton was obviously game to be in this pic, but he felt bad he didn’t have his signature cowboy hat with him. A sweaty work hat looks good on him, too.

Although The Ultimate SewingBox instructions said the project required approximately 3 hours to put it together, it took over 5. And that was with Suzanne assisting Colton after she got home from work. If Colton can’t complete what somebody says is a 3-hour task in 3 hours, it isn’t a 3-hour task. That man can work. That man is efficient.

So here is The Ultimate SewingBox, although I’m sure it won’t be the last time I post about it. It takes up one entire living room wall when it’s opened up. It’s kind of its own little room. It is certainly bigly-er than either of us imagined it would be. You can get an idea how large this thing is when you see Colton standing next to it. He is 6 ft. 15 inches tall.

As I’ve said, some people have a fireplace as the focal point of their living room. This is now what we have. I told Suzanne I will be happy if The Ultimate SewingBox is always open, taking up a pretty bigly chunk o’ the living room. Her  happiness is my happiness.

And now, I have a lifetime pass on her fussing about anything I do. She’s that hyped up about having The Ultimate SewingBox in her possession. From now on, I can do no wrong.

Suzanne hasn’t yet inserted all of The Ultimate SewingBox’s bins and trays. That’ll take up an evening. And then filling each container after they’re in place will take up the weekend. Suzanne will be thrilled to have to figure out what she wants to put in it. She will definitely have to carefully choose The Ultimate SewingBox supplies from her overflowing craft room. I could buy her one of these for the other three living room walls, and they still wouldn’t be able to hold her hoard o’ sewing stuff. (I know. I’m one to talk. I have The Tie Room.)

Suzanne seems deeply pleased with her new toy. In fact, even before it was completely put together, I saw her literally petting it. And her cheeks were high with giddiness. Best. Money. I. Ever. Spent.

If you wanna see The Ultimate SewingBox in action, here’s the link you wanna check out:

https://youtu.be/fRisNZfdsLs

 

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Numbers 1 and 2

Bow Tie o’ the Day likes the fact that more and more days are chilly enough for me to wear long-sleeve shirts, cuz that means cufflinks will be around to spend part of the day with the bling. It seems like the ties enjoy sharing their limelight on the website.

Today’s Cufflinks o’ the Day offer a dog and a tree, and we all know how our mutts love trees. Male mutts mostly. But I have seen plenty o’ female canines use a tree.

Skitter is not one of them. In fact, I’m beginning to doubt if Skitter is even a dog. She will neither pee nor poop when we take her on walks. She will do neither at rest stops. She will do neither in the brush at the side of the road. I’ve taken her to parks where dogs aren’t even allowed, just to see if she would give it up in the name of breaking the law for the sole purpose of being a rebel. Nope.

I once drove to Cedar City and back to Delta in one day, with Roxy and Skitter in the back seat. Whenever I stopped at a gas station for drive snacks, Roxy jumped out and did her business. I’d have to drag Skitter out of the car, walk her to the back of the station, and wait. And wait some more. Skitter would just shake. Roxy’d get tired of waiting and go back to the car. Not one drop of anything ever came out of Skitter.

Defeated, we continued our day journey to and from Cedar. And don’t think for one minute that Skitter did any of her business at any point during our trip. We got to our Cedar destination, and still no #1 or #2. And there was not one Skitter drop or dropping on the way home either. She seemed fine about it, but I know better.

Where will Skitter do her thang? She would relieve herself anywhere on The Wright Block in Delta. But now that we sold the Delta house, the one place on the entire planet she will relieve herself is in our fenced-in back yard here in Centerville. That’s it.

When we go on vacation, Suzanne’s sister, Marjorie, comes to live in our house with Skitter for a few days. If Marjorie isn’t available to Skitter-sit, we don’t go. So far, Marjorie hasn’t let us or Skitter down yet. They both seem happy about their playcations at our house. Skitter doesn’t even shake, rattle, and vibrate around Marjorie anymore.

It’s a good thing Skitter and Marjorie enjoy their sleepovers here, because Suzanne and I are planning to go away for a week in October. We can’t take Skitter or Marjorie with us, but at least I’ll have ties with me. 🐕 🌳

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I Can’t Think Of Anything To Write

But that won’t stop me. In fact, Bow Ties o’ the Day/Tie o’ the Day encouraged me to press on with our post. And I listen to this tie because it allows me to not have to decide between wearing a bow tie or wearing a regular tie. Sometimes a girl just needs to wear both types of neckwear.

How are we going to come up with something to write about? Well, I have a tried-and-true method for figuring out a starting point– whether it’s for a post, a story, or a poem. I grab a dictionary, open it up to a random page, then put my finger on a word. I have to write something about that specific word. That’s my rule.

For this post, the first word I touched was a dirty word, so we’ll bypass that one. The second word I touched– the one we can use– was “mucilage.” I know. Weird. It shares the same word root as “mucus.” And of course it means an adhesive gum or glue, usually made from plants. Yes, it looks and feels like mucus.

I wondered mightily what to say about mucilage, and then I remembered a crafty glue/mucilage concoction called Mod Podge, which I always heard pronounced MODGE Podge. Ah, the 70’s! (It’s still around in craft stores, although it kinda disappeared for a couple of decades. Throwback!)

Mod Podge dried almost completely clear, no matter what you spread it on. It was a mostly transparent glue, but it dried with a matte finish. Aside from brushing completed puzzles with Mod Podge so they wouldn’t fall apart, or cutting out pictures and Mod Podging them to pieces of wood, the main thing I did with Mod Podge is use it to coat rocks I had painted, to protect the paint and to give the rock a matte look.

We were all doing it. We painted our pet rocks. We painted faces on our rocks– like doing their make-up, I suppose. We painted what adults considered hippie words on rocks, like PEACE, LOVE, GROOVY, HARMONY– evil, counterculture words. The size of the rock didn’t matter. Rocks tiny enough you could keep them in your pocket. Rocks bigly enough you could decorate your front porch with them. Rocks you could put in your school locker or on your desk. What were we thinking? But it was a heckuva blast.

So that’s my mucilage story, for what it’s worth. And if you didn’t know Mod Podge before, now you do. And if you didn’t know mucilage before, now you do. If you see the word MUCILAGE and can’t remember what it means, try to see MUCUS. That’ll remind you.

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Even The Ties Are Disappointed

Tie o’ the Day understands. We know what you came to see: The Ultimate SewingBox. Sorry to disappoint. Our scheduled assembler had to do other stuff last night, so he couldn’t come over and put together Suzanne’s new best friend. But he’s promised to be here tomorrow night to perform his miracle. Hey, he’s a young buck, so he has a lot of fish to fry, as they say. And there are a lot of fish in the sea, as they also say. And he has a right to sow his wild oats– as they also say. Okay, I’m done with the clichés now. We’re practicing our patience while anticipating the bigly outcome.

I decided to put together some autumn colors clash for the photo today. And in the photo you can also see a pile of boxes containing body parts of The Ultimate SewingBox. And, hey, it’s just one of the piles o’ parts.

When I assemble things– whether I use the instructions or not– the finished product does not in any way resemble what it’s supposed to be. At least I know that truth about myself. To be successful in life, a person’s gotta know their strengths and weaknesses. In fact, I don’t buy anything that must be assembled, unless I can think of some victim who will be willing to do it for me.

I don’t mind paying. Name your price. Hell, I’ll double it. I’ll bake you cookies. I’ll wash your car. I’ll have your babies. Just do it for me, please. And while you’re assembling the thing, I won’t stand over your shoulder and tell you how I think you should do it either. You are free to construct away. 🔨

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Wearing Shotgun Shells

Shotgun shells Tie o’ the Day is one of those ties your face has to be no more than an inch away from, in order for you to decipher what it is. Tie is named by its maker “The Buck Starts Here.” As in buckshot. Clever, eh? My neckwear collection is overflowing at this point, so a tie/bow tie has to have a little extra sumpin’ sumpin’ about it, to be worthy of me adding it to the population of The Tie Room. Clearly, I like Tie. It’s a surprise to have any kind of weaponry on a tie– let alone bullets.

Tonight, Tie and I have made ourselves a pot roast. I haven’t made a pot roast for two or three years, at least. Suzanne started eating a specific diet a few years ago, and pot roast is not on its list of approved menu items. Actually, she can eat the roast if it’s a beef roast, but she’s not allowed to consume the potatoes or carrots. And if you can’t eat the potatoes and carrots with your roast, you ain’t eatin’ an official pot roast.

I’m supportive of Suzanne’s new eating habits. She’s lost 65 pounds. I feel guilty if I eat certain things in front of her, so I try not to do that. And because I don’t want to tempt her into eating her forbidden foods, I wait until she’s not around before I cook the not-good-for-Suzanne recipes. Like pot roast. Suzanne is out at a work dinner tonight, so I am free. Free, I tell you. I’ve thrown food caution to the food wind, and built myself a feast. I’d invite y’all over, but I’m so over-hungry for what I’ve cooked that I don’t want to share it this time. Next time, maybe.

And after I eat, I have to make certain I get rid of all the evidence. There can be no leftovers in the fridge, and I will definitely have to air out the house. There must be no trace of an old-fashioned, meat-and-‘tatoes dinner.

I like carbs and fat. So sue me.