Category: Stories

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Where’s My Life Raft?

I’m wearing manta ray Tie o’ the Day to psych myself up into jumping into the pool. The beautiful Tie won’t be swimming with me, because I don’t especially want to swim with manta rays. Don’t worry, some of my stunt neckwear will swim with me when I finally take my first post-operation leap into the pool. You’ll see photos of the event soon, but I can’t quite wrap my mind around taking a dip yet. The problem is that I’m afraid swimming this soon will pull or tear all the wrong muscles and organs surrounding my teeny tiny pancreas, and then I’ll have to be opened up a second time. I will do anything (or NOT do anything) it takes to make sure I never have to stay in a hospital again. Ever since I came home from Hunstman, I’ve gazed longingly at the pool each day. The blue of the water calls to me. And here I sit on my couch, not answering the call. Yet. I think the pool misses me as much as I miss it. Being so cautious about doing stuff makes me feel prissy, and prissy isn’t something I usually feel. In fact, I don’t know if I’ve ever felt prissy in my life– not even when Suzanne once brought out her suitcases of make-up and gave me a full-out makeover. Having brought up that particular incident just now, I anticipate at least a couple of you will ask to see photos of such a thing happening to me again. Suzanne and I already discussed that me in make-up would be an excellent TIE O’ THE DAY post. We figure you’ll like it. So… now you have two specific posts to look forward to: Ties and bow ties swimming in the pool, and me with a made-up face. 💄

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I’ve Got No Idea What This Face Is About

Bow Tie o’ the Day celebrates hot peppers. I decided this was the proper bow tie to wear when eating scrambled eggs and salsa for breakfast. This morning, I’m experiencing something similar to a hangover: a “driveover.” That miniscule trip to and from Utah County to church yesterday went off spectacularly, and I felt I had conquered a humongous hurdle. But when I woke up this morning, my mortal coil was throbbing and shaky and dizzy with fatigue. I’m hoping some spicy red pepper action will eliminate my “driveover” and its accompanying tiredness. Healing is a process of baby steps, I know. But I’m a bigly baby and I wanna take bigly baby steps RIGHT NOW! Each day, I work on ignoring the crawling pace of healing. I remind myself to focus on what new old things I’m able to do again. For example, I handled the laundry without incident a few days ago. I can now empty and fill the dishwasher. I’m back in charge of putting the garbage and recycling in their proper cans. Soon, I’ll be able to be the one who actually rolls the cans to and from the curb on garbage day. It amazes me that dull chores become incredibly thrilling to do after you’ve been incapable of doing them for six weeks. How exciting! Happily, I’m back in shape enough to take Skitter for her short daily walkies, which has never been a chore to me. Above all, I am sooooooo extremely close to being able to safely heft my 100 oz. Mini-Keg o’ Diet Coke. I’ve missed my trusty keg-companion so bloody much. And as an added bonus, carrying it around with me 24/7 made it unnecessary for me to do weight training at the gym. Best. Sippy. Cup. Ever!

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A Day Of Rest. Same As Every Day Lately, For Me.

Church Bow Tie o’ the Day rode with me to Spanish Fork to meet my Sister Who Wishes To Remain Nameless. I picked her up and we cruised to Provo, to Bishop Travis’ ward. (Yes, I drove that sorta bigly trip all by my li’l ol’ self.) Meeting my SWWTRN is always a highlight, cuz it’s the only time I get to spend time with her, since I rarely travel to Delta anymore. Whenever I was in Delta, she and I– and Mom– attended Sacrament Meeting every Sunday. Sitting in a chapel pew not talking with people you love is a pretty good way to aid you in getting a spiritual bump. I highly recommend it. And having a not-talking conversation like that can help fortify the relationship you have with whoever you sit. I call these kinds of pow-wows “not-conversations.”  A not-conversation doesn’t have to happen only in church though. You and whoever you choose to not-conversate with can have a not-conversation anywhere you please. I don’t recommend it as the only type of talking you engage in. If you did that, you would bore each other into wanting to run screaming across the Delta overpass. And you wouldn’t learn much about the person you’re with or what they think. I can tell you from my own experience that Suzanne and I have sometimes had not-conversations during which we both started laughing at the same time. Heck, we probably think the exact same funny things, at the exact same time in our separate heads. Ah, the mystical magic of not-conversations.

 

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An Ironic Name For My Grocery Store

Bow Tie o’ the Day’s main color reminded me I was completely out of lemon-lime Popsicles, so off we went to Dick’s Market to replenish my supply. With my current gloomy mood still attacking me, I decided a sorta clownish bow tie might be able to pull me back to the Land o’ the Jolly. And it did improve my discouraged state of mind by making some of the other Dick’s customers smile and/or comment about it. That’s one of the side effects of hangin’ with bow ties: People can’t help grinning at them because the wee knots are dapper and uncommon. That makes it near-impossible for me to be grumpy or down– at least while I’m in the middle of the situation. Even that brief respite from myself helps me remember that there is light– and mirth, and wonder– at the end o’ the tuna. Did ya see what I did there? I felt like making a groaner joke already. Things are looking up. A bit.

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Meh

Every person should have these two things: A headlamp and a cork Bow Tie o’ the Day. I keep a headlamp on my nightstand, just in case I want to read in the middle of the night, and I’m too lazy to get up out of bed to turn on the light. Mostly, I don’t want to wake up Suzanne with mega light lighting up the whole bedroom like a UFO landing. With a headlamp, I can illuminate the book and nowhere else. Those little book lights you clip on your book are cute gadgets, but they don’t really work. Why we all need a cork bow tie is something I can’t answer except to say it sounds like a snazzy thing to have. I can attest that it is. Blah, blah, blah. I’m kinda blithering on about nothing this morning because my head and heart aren’t into doing this post. Sorry about that, but yesterday was the first post-surgery day that I’ve been discouraged. Oh, nothing happened. I simply felt like I will never get better, and I’ll be stuck in tired-and-always-in-the-house mode. Don’t get me wrong. I know how lucky I’ve been with this whole pancreas endeavor. My surgeon was one of the best in the country. The surgery itself went perfectly. Suzanne’s boss encouraged her to leave/miss work whenever I needed her to help me. My recovery has been right on schedule. Neither extreme of my bipolarity has kicked in. Suzanne gifted me a reclining loveseat. I recognize all these things as my blessings. But for 24 hours now, I’ve pouted inside myself– and a little bit at Suzanne after she got home from work yesterday. I’ve been mad at myself for needing the surgery that has pretty much ruined my summer. And I feel bad it’s ruined Suzanne’s summer, despite the fact that she says it hasn’t. No worries. I know I’ll snap out of it– maybe by this afternoon’s post. I hope so, for your sake. Ain’t nobody got time for this.

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Humans Do Not Run This House

Ties o’ the Day– and Skitter– were the first to put their butts on the reclining loveseat that came to live with us this morning. All I did was walk the delivery dudes to the door, and by the time I got back to the living room to try out this new piece o’ furniture, these selfish things were already seated and asleep. Dang! I’m the one who’s supposed to take it easy for a couple more months! I would feel differently about it if Ties and Skitter had chipped in a buck or two or a thousand to pay for the loveseat. Quite frankly, I feel used. Really, though, my behind is just jealous and can’t wait for Ties and Skitter to wake up, so it can have a very long turn at reclining. I thought about dragging the furniture-hoggers off the thing, but I was taught to let sleeping dogs– and sleeping ties–lie. I was raised right. I was not raised in a barn. I was raised in a bee warehouse. 🛋 🐝

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It Wasn’t Sunday Brunch. It Was Thursday Chow.

Wood lobster Bow Tie o’ Last Night clawed its way to STELLA GRILL with us. We had to be in SLC to finalize and pay for our upcoming flooring installation, so we figured we’d eat a bite at yet another restaurant where we’ve never eaten before. Also, a decades-long pal of Suzanne is the chef there. Despite Bow Tie’s presence, I didn’t order lobster. But that’s only because it’s not on the STELLA menu. Bow Tie’s claws open and close, so I sort of demonstrated it to you by pulling one of the claws open wide before snapping this photo. And hey, the hat I’m wearing has become my fave hat of the summer, as evidenced by the fact that it seems to be showing up in these pics quite often. I used to think these flat-billed caps were stoopid, and then I found this hat. I liked its colors, so– true to my daily adventures in Clash Fashion– I added it to my pile o’ hats. Once I tried it, I liked it. It’s kinda interesting how much what we wear can influence our attitude as we move through our day. For example, I’ve been pajama-ing almost 24/7 for the last six weeks, and I think it has helped me to stay relaxed– which is what I’m supposed to be doing. To keep my fashion spirits up while I’m on medical house-arrest, I rotate different pj’s frequently, and I mix up my pj’s so they clash. We should all probably try more things; expand our boundaries; push our way out of the envelope; bust through the walls of the box; ignore the supposed-to’s; and mix it up. Get this party started!! You’ll see new possibilities in yourself. And you’ll see the world from perspectives you haven’t yet imagined– because the world will see new possibilities in you. I promise.

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And Then, The Voice In My Head Said…

This afternoon I drove me and Bow Tie o’ the Day 27 miles (one way) on I-15 and through the Salt Lake valley to Daybreak– to an appointment with my crazy-head doctor, who helps me keep my bipolarity as level as it can be. I was wary that this whole surgery/recovery episode would toss my head into turmoil. I worried that at some point along this medical adventure my head would swing into dramatic depression or dramatic mania. But it’s been ok. Maybe sleeping a bunch has kept me from thinking too much. I’ve been too wiped-out to focus my thinking about bigly ideas. My bipolar head needs a vacation from the depths of my brain occasionally, and it appears that’s exactly what  exhaustion is supplying it with right now. Anyhoo… For the drive to my appointment, I wrapped my tiny pillow against my belly and seat belted it in across me. My longer, faster drive felt normal. Except for the pillow. I had the car window down, and I sang along with my tunes, over-the-top loudly. For that, I apologize to any drivers whose ears got damaged while in my voice’s vicinity. My own ears are injured from listening to myself belt out arias. My not-mellifluous voice even sprained my hearing aid. Excuse me–hearing “device.” 👂🏻 🎼

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A Blast From A Rare Tie-less Day In The Past

Paisley Tie o’ the Day would’ve loved the chance to be clipped on to this shirt. If I remember accurately, this shirt was actually a bodysuit. (Geez, bodysuits made pottying a pain.) Check out the bigly collar. What a huge wingspan it has! Note my stunning shag haircut. And my uni-brow is present in its infancy. What I can’t figure out about this photo is why I wore a shirt which was a single color– on picture day, especially. No busy pattern of any kind. Not even a pocket in which to put a loud pocket square. It was 1973 and I was in Mrs. Nielson’s 3rd Grade class. I remember nothing about that school year, except my times tables. They come in handy sometimes, so I’m glad I remember them. I just can’t believe nothing else memorable happened to me during that grade. I don’t even think I was sent to the principal, which happened on an average of once per year. It was always because I felt compelled to make some necessary political point. For example, one year I protested for the Constitutional right to wear overalls. I didn’t understand why boys could wear them to school and girls couldn’t. If I had a reasonable point to make– and made a fuss respectfully– Dad and Mom backed me up. With the “overall incident,” Mom bought me two pairs of striped overalls to wear to school. But I guess I didn’t make any political statements in 3rd Grade. Maybe there was nothing to protest. Maybe I was resting up for 4th Grade, cuz that’s when my class made the bigly move all the way over to the south wing of the school– a world away from those pesky babies in 1st to 3rd grades. 👩‍🌾

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The Wheels On The Car Go ‘Round and ‘Round

I honestly can’t figure out what kind of creature Bow Tie o’ the Day depicts. It might be a rabid feline of some sort, but I dunno. Please feel free to share your opinion about its identity. I didn’t order Bow Tie. It was sent to me by mistake. I had actually ordered a bow tie with paw prints on it. I got a mammal, at least. Anyhoo… I made it home safely from my first post-surgery drive– without crashing. I was not a danger to myself or others. I was definitely not a road hazard. To be fair, I gotta admit that I drove only four miles (and four miles back)– to Suzanne’s office to sit with her at lunch. She was panicky until she saw I made it there in one piece. My top speed? 40 mph, which is the speed limit between here and there. Even though it was a wussy trip, it’s nice to cross off one more recovery milestone on my list. Every task I get back to doing makes me feel like I certainly am improving, despite my fatigue. There is a flip-side to getting my physical self up to snuff: I will have to do increasingly more of my regular chores. It’s like I’m currently in a kind of chrysalis, in which I will ultimately transform into a beautiful housewife again. Thus, I must dust off my duster. And my mom’s 1960’s, red-and-white, DHS lunch lady apron awaits me in the pantry.  🏎 🦋