Flowery Bow Tie o’ the Day and Suzanne and Skitter and I made a quick trek to Delta, to visit this old dame– the original Helen Wright– at Millard Care and Rehab for a few hours. Mom was in the highest of spirits, as is her usual demeanor. She has a zest for life which makes me tired sometimes. She goes and goes, and goes some more. She makes me need a nap. I love her!
Did I mention Mom loves Skitter? Did I mention Mom adores Suzanne? Did I mention Mom has finally learned to tolerate me? I’m an acquired taste.
Actually, Mom has always loved me far more than I deserve. But I’ll take it.
Bow Tie o’ the Day is providing Mom with some early Mother’s Day flowers. We’re starting to honor the Queen Bee Mother a couple of days early, just because we want to.
I’m guessing this portrait of Mom was taken around 45 years ago, in the early 70’s. Her hair has the “height” she always said she needed it to have. She probably wants extremely high hair now that she’s shrinking. I don’t care how much she shrinks, she’s still the Big Helen. At 88, she’s still larger than life.
I’ve spent my conscious life hearing, from those in and out of the family, about things they’ve witnessed Mom do. I’ve heard about food she made; jokes she played; quilts she made; what she said that left the crowd in laughter; opinions she expressed, whether anyone wanted to know what she thought or not; etc. She’s a wild woman with a wild heart. She’s generous and kind. Of course, if you know Mom, you already know that.
More than once in my life, friends– some of whom haven’t even met Mom in person– jealously commented to me about Mom. I’ve heard, “I wish my mother would send home-baked cookies across the country to me.” And I’ve heard, “I wish my mother talked to me like your mom talks to you.” One of my more envious friends even said about Mom, “I wish my mother loved me like your mother loves you.”
I feel sad some of my friends didn’t have what I’ve always had. I think everybody should be loved like Mom loves me.
Aside from collecting neckwear, I spend some of my time in search of relaxation for Suzanne’s aches and pains, as well as for my stoopid, bipolar head. I seek out off-the-wall relaxation opportunities, on my quest to find something effective. Suzanne and I do like a fine massage, but I’m also willing to try just about anything else that mellows us out– both body and psyche. Heck, I try weird stuff simply to have new experiences. You already probably know that about me. Having a fresh adventure is enough reason to dive into it.
Wood, magnet-clasp Bow Tie o’ a Month Ago went with us on one of our attempts at relaxation. For Valentine’s Day, I gave Suzanne (and myself) a session at The Salt Cave, which is one offering at Awaken Wellness– a New Age-y wellness center in South Ogden. A few weeks after V-Day, we finally found some time to put the event on our schedule.
I didn’t know anyone who had been to The Salt Cave, so we had no idea what to really expect– except salt. I don’t even remember how I discovered the place existed. I scored a Groupon coupon for the 45-minute session, so it wouldn’t bankrupt me all for nothing if it turned out to be a letdown. All we had to go on was the photo and info I found online.
The Salt Cave is not an actual cave, but it felt like one when we were in it. It was a room about the size of a small bedroom. What appears in the photograph to be sand covering the floor, is salt. The lighting was extremely low. The pyramid in the wall was constructed with bricks of salt, and it glowed like a low-ember fire.
We sat in zero-gravity chairs. Calming music played, which we were told was programmed with “corrective healing frequencies, binaural beats, and isochronic tones.” Whatever that means. I don’t know if the music “healed” me, but it did help me mellow out.
For the duration of the session, a medical device called a halogenerator dispersed salt into the air. We couldn’t see the salt, but we felt it in our noses. I can say it felt like my nasal passages were clearing themselves out. Salt air has long been thought to improve respiratory ailments, as well as other health issues. We left with a faint layer of salt on our clothes. You can sort of see it on my hat.
The Salt Cave wasn’t magic, but we enjoyed our time in it. We certainly got relaxed. We were kinda sad when the session was finished, and I think we’d go again. It doesn’t matter that the experience was not profound and life-altering. It was fun.
After our session was complete, I was parched for salt. I needed plain old Lay’s potato chips. I did not lick the salt pyramid which was built into the wall. But I thought about it.
Perhaps for Christmas, Suzanne will give me my own salt lick to install in The Tie Room. Better yet, I would like enough salt licks to install one on at least one wall in every room in the house. And in my truck. And in my car. I don’t think it’s asking too much to have a permanent salt lick with me when I travel.
With the help of Tie o’ the Day, the bigly clash fashion is on. This unmatched match o’ dots was a go-together must. As I’ve mentioned before, I don’t usually “choose” my get-up: I grab the first shirt I find in the closet, and I take the first bow tie my eyes see from whichever bow tie drawer I open. Or I blindly nab a necktie from the closet, where they all hang in hibernation. Sometimes, on a special occasion, I will plan an outfit on purpose. Of course, for church I tone my outfits down a bit. Okay, I tone them down a lot. It is a humongous effort to lower the volume of my attire.
But when it comes to “doing” my hair, I don’t. And I never have. It’s not just that I can’t do anything with my scraggly, overgrown hair. I can’t do nothin’ with my hairs no matter how brilliantly they are cut. My hairs are against me. They are thin and straight beyond measure. And I personally have no talent for creating any kind of hairdo. Doing hair is a craft, an art. I can appreciate visual art of all kinds. However, I cannot create anything resembling any kind of visual art. Wash-‘n’-go is how I roll. That’s why I need masterful haircuts.
BTW For my Mormon readers: I am curious about something, and so far no one has been able to answer my question. Please help me out if you know the answer. Can men wear a white bow tie with LDS Temple clothes, or is only a white necktie allowed?
Last night, Bow Tie o’ the Sleep and I slept dandily on the mustache pillowcase Suzanne made me. But I woke up with my head surrounded by scissors! 7 pairs of scissors! I believe the message Suzanne is sending here is this: HELEN EILEEN WRIGHT, CUT YOUR ATROCIOUS HAIRS ASAP!!! Even my hairs are hard for her to live with.
Bow Tie o’ the Day sits in the TMS reception area with me and my droopy eyelids. You know all those naps you wouldn’t take when you were a kid? I now regret not napping every chance I was told to. I think I wouldn’t have to take naps all the time now, if I had just closed my eyes as a kid. I do like my naps, but I have things to do. I don’t want to “have to” nap– as an adult.
I also wish I had eaten ALL the food off ALL the dinner plates that were put on ALL the kitchen tables in front of me when I was a kid. I gotta watch what I eat at this point in my life. As a child, I could have eaten anything and burned it off immediately, and my arteries were clear as could be. But no! Kids have to be stubborn. “Hey, parent! You want me to eat this yummy cheeseburger? Even though I want to eat it, I refuse to do so. For no good reason, except to get on your nerves, I refuse to eat.” I know I’m not the only one who did this. What were we thinking?
The TMS treatment most certainly jolts me awake. The woman behind me in the second photo is my TMS technician, Tenzin. She gets my electromagnetic coil started at the right intensity and for the correct amount of time, then she drinks her coffee and watches me go through my session. She’s like my own personal lifeguard. She makes sure I do not go into seizures during treatment. Zapping awake the brain’s mood area– good. Having seizures– bad. I don’t worry about it. Tenzin knows what she’s doing.
Tenzin is as chapped as I am that somebody rearranged the furniture in the TMS room without our approval. There used to be a chair just a few feet away from my feet, where I could put The Purse and keep my eye on it during my treatment. But early one morning, Tenzin and I walked into the room and the chair was gone! Also, these two recliners were moved to the far side of the room. The Purse now has to sit in a recliner so far away from me I can hardly see its saddle on the horizon. I need binoculars. Tenzin can no longer see it at all from her desk. I have to squint so hard to make The Purse come into focus from so far away that I think I might yet have a seizure from which Tenzin, my personal lifeguard, must rescue me.
Monocled mustache Tie o’ the Day completes our series of mustache neckwear. I actually have a real-life monocle, but I can’t find it. It is hiding somewhere in The Tie Room. I need to tidy up that place. I mean– if you can’t find your monocle, you better get serious and do some heavy duty room-keeping. It is never a chore to spend time arranging and rearranging the occupants of The Tie Room. If I would simply put things back in their proper places after I use them, I’d never have to sort out the room’s contents. On the other hand, if the place were always in order, I wouldn’t have to spend time in there– and I want to spend time in there, surrounded by my extensive collection of neckwear, hats, Sloggers, lapel pins, and cufflinks.
Some readers don’t believe The Tie Room exists. Well, it certainly does. And it is absolutely necessary for me to have an entire room dedicated to my fashion whims. I am often asked how many ties and bow ties I own. I never do an exact count– for three reasons. First, the population is constantly rising, so a neckwear count would never be accurate. Second, I can’t count that high. And third, if I actually did count my neck pieces, I wouldn’t be able to keep myself from telling Suzanne how many I’ve adopted– and that could be bigly bad for me.
It’s true Suzanne has a room full of her crafting and sewing supplies and doo-dads. And when I say it’s full, I mean you can’t walk around in it. Sewing and crafting stuff is different though. You can use things you sew and craft. They can serve practical needs. My bow ties are quite useless, beyond making me happy. I guess a lot of hobbies are “worthless,” but we love them. Maybe we love them precisely because they don’t do anything but make us happy. Our hobbies get us through bad days. Our hobbies are grown-up play.
If I had to give you a rough estimate as to the neckwear count, my best guess is that I have around probably 1,000 neckties and 2,000 bow ties. I have collected them for thirty years, but I have to admit I’ve wrangled most of them in the last six or seven.
I have made a promise to myself to cease collecting them when/if The Tie Room gets full. Let’s just say I’m slowing down my collecting. If I purchase a new piece now, it’s because it really, really, really, really, really catches my eye. I figure I’ve got maybe 20-25 years left on the face of the earth, and I don’t want to completely quit perusing and collecting neckwear. Therefore, I must be discriminating in my tie tastes if I want to keep actively expanding my collection until the second I die.
Hey! This is the last mustache Bow Tie o’ the Day. It is made of painted wood. Its simplicity of design makes it a must-have piece of neckwear for my collection. I have a mustache-y necktie for tomorrow, and then that’s it for our Mustache Days theme.
Skitter doesn’t have a mustache bow tie, but she wore her little collar bow tie to see her doctor today. She needed two booster shots. Every time we walk into her vet’s office, Skitter shakes like she’s her own private earthquake. When her appointment is done and we’re safely home, she gets mad at me for hauling her to the vet. She pouts for the rest of the day– like I had set out to hurt her sensitive, canine feelings. Tomorrow, she will have forgotten all about the vet visit, and I will be tops on her list again. She’ll be all hyped-up to play with me while I’m trying to get some work done.
I, on the other hand, look forward to showing up for Skitter’s vet appointments. I hate that it makes Skitter shiver, but… When Skitter and I are waiting in the reception area or the exam room, she keeps her paw on my arm so she can be sure I don’t get up and leave her there by her skittish self. It’s so sweet when she traps me with her paw. In fact, it’s downright CUTE. And you know how I hate the word CUTE, cuz it’s overused! But The Skit’s trembling paw on my arm is truly one thing the word CUTE was intended to describe.
We celebrated Cinco de Mayo yesterday by participating in nothing resembling a Cinco de Mayo festivity. (You might remember Skitter had already cracked open her piñata a couple of weeks ago, cuz she couldn’t wait any longer.) Mustache Bow Tie o’ the Day helped us pack up the car for an afternoon excursion. We loaded up Diet Coke, water, and bug spray. And we loaded up Skitter. We did not load up The Saddle Purse. Off we drove to Antelope Island– which I always call Cantaloupe Island, convinced someone somewhere someday will think it’s funny.
We stopped at the beach as soon as we got on the island. The lake is so low that we had to walk at least 1/4 mile from the real beach to get to the water. It was the first time Skitter had walked on sand, and it was the first time she had seen a lake. She did well, despite her fear. She did not venture into the water. I think she actually had fun, even though she stuck to my legs the entire adventure.
Our beach-hangin’ did not last long at all. We were at war with the brine flies. We found ourselves in the midst of a near-Biblical true pestilence. We were outnumbered, and our bug spray was no match for the brine flies’ superior weapons of annoyance. They were ultimately the victors. Surrender can be a wise and glorious thing sometimes. When we got home I discovered brine fly bites across my forehead where my hatband had been, and poor Skitter had bites inside her ears.
We spent most of our Cantaloupe Island trip in the car, and we had a fine time. The afternoon was bright. The drive was pretty. We drove the island’s roads, checking out the bigly bison and a few antelope. I met a bison and a deer, and they each wanted a turn wearing Bow Tie o’ the Day. I obliged.
‘Stache wood Bow Tie o’ the Day is yet another handlebar mustache. The handlebar style tends to stand out bigly from other styles, and so it is often used to represent all mustaches. If you find a ‘stache  decorating a product– coffee cups, t-shirts, etc.– it is most likely going to be a handlebar. And if I could grow a mustache, it would absolutely be a handlebar.
From the moment I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder, it has never been difficult for me to say I’m bipolar. I do, however, have a heckuva difficult time saying I have a mental illness. For some reason, the term “mental illness” makes me uncomfortable. I’m not quite sure why, but I think it might have something to do with my idea of myself as an intelligent person.
To say there’s something “ill” about my “mental” self makes me worry that I’m not smart. The two I.Q. tests I’ve taken in my life say my intelligence is in “genius” territory. I dunno if I agree with that, but I have always prided myself on my ability to think well. I consider myself to be foremost a poet and an intellectual. It’s not boastful for me to say that: I simply know what my talents and strengths are. I don’t want to think I have an ill head.
I was prideful about my strengths and talents once, and it was a decade-long “once”: I thought my smart brain could out-think and defeat my mental illness. I thought my “genius” could save me. It didn’t, and it can’t.
