Witty & Wise Ties, Trivia & Lies
My hairs went through so much terror yesterday, and at bedtime some of them were still going through it. I thought I should prove to you how strong my hair goop is. Seven hours after I did my visor hairdo, a few brave strands were still hanging tough– trying to visor through, as long as possible. I chose a simple wood Bow Tie o’ the Pajamas to wear while snapping this selfie. I thought it was a fitting choice, since my hairs kind of resemble dead tree branches.
Colonel Sanders Tie o’ the Day helped me re-think my baseball caps. Do I really need them, or can I get by with this glued-up visor hairdo? I dunno. My hairs visor seems to be keeping the sun out of my eyes so far today. If I got rid of my hats, I could free up their space in The Tie Room, where I could house more bow ties. But alas! I love my hat collection too, so that’s not gonna happen. There’s room in The Tie Room Resort for all things that wander in.
Small towns are like that, even though we tend to think of them as narrow-minded. A small town will generally set a place for you at its table. Trust me, you will find narrow-minded people anywhere you go. You will find jerks everywhere you go, as well. And if you act like a jerk in a small town, be prepared to lose that place at the table you were so kindly given– as you would deserve to. But most people realize nobody’s perfect, and they’ve got plenty of their own issues to work on. A lot of “mind your own biscuits” combined with even more of “love your neighbor” goes a long way toward allowing you to live like a mature human being among other grown-ups. [Note: The meanings of the aforementioned two sayings are more alike than they seem.]
For example, I’m reminded of a Delta-area woman I knew in my kidhood, who suddenly– out of nowhere, out of character– began to steal. She stole insignificant things from stores, and she didn’t seem to hide what she was doing. A lot of the town knew.
Some people wanted to see her put in jail. Some people wanted to see her face plastered across the front page of the newspaper. She was a wonderful, law-abiding wife, mother, citizen, and church member in all other ways. She wasn’t stealing because she couldn’t afford what she took. And the things she stole were random and unnecessary. It was clear she was suffering from a mental issue. The cops, store owners, and her family had a pow-wow and decided legal action was probably not going to help her. They decided shaming her in THE CHRONICLE wasn’t going to help her or her family. But she couldn’t keep getting away with stealing, without consequences. That this woman was not going to jail bothered a few busybodies who neither minded their own biscuits, nor did they try to help.
Working together to love their neighbor, the group of cops, store owners, and family– including the woman herself– created a plan to get everybody who was involved in the immediate problem what they all needed/wanted. The woman agreed to receive mental health services. The store managers wouldn’t call the cops when they saw her steal, which would free up the cops to deal with more pressing issues. The stores would keep track of what the woman stole, and the husband would pay the bills each month until she got her mental issue taken care of. After months of mending her psyche in therapy, she became well. Nothing “official” was done. A small town of neighbors loved one neighbor enough to solve a strange problem together. A narrow-minded town would not even try to accomplish that.
As with most things in life, you need to find the balance. You need to keep the balance between your biscuits and your neighbors: You have to pay just a smidgen of attention to your neighbors’ biscuits, so you’ll know your neighbors’ struggles. Sometimes that’s the only way you’ll be able to know how to love your neighbors in specific ways that will help sustain them.
End o’ sermon. Again.
As I considered what to make my hairdo do today, I started to think about how snazzy mustaches can be. I decided I’d try to create a couple with my hairs. Here’s my stab at a Fu Manchu. You can see my mustache-styling skills are quite limited. I can’t even do a Fu Manchu that looks right. The important thing is that I tried. Just for y’all, I tried.
My ‘stache makes as much sense as my Prince-Albert-in-a-Can Bow Tie o’ the Day. I mean, these young whippersnappers nowadays have no clue about the old routine of prank-calling a store that sold tobacco and asking: “Do you have Prince Albert in a can?” And when told YES, saying “Well, you better let him out.” I have to do a lot of explaining when I wear this piece. And the young wonderers still don’t find it amusing. And that gets me to thinking about how much more isolated Delta was when I was a kid. Oh, it was still 140 miles from SLC, but without cell phones, texting, and the internet, your mind was near-completely soaked in the confines of Delta and its offshoots. A phone prank and toilet-papering a house was about the funniest crap you could pull, without causing a town civil war.
Don’t think for a minute that Delta was boring back in the day. There was plenty to do: for example, sliding down the flumes easily morphed into cliff jumping; tubing down the Sevier could end up planting you at the reservoir for a swim and a bonfire; throwing a couch in the back of a truck (Yes, we rode in the back of trucks.) often ended at an Oak City canyon party– complete with a campfire and s’mores.
Like most kids, I was allowed to ride my bike everywhere from the age of zero. (Slight exaggeration.) I was allowed to play on the railroad tracks. They were pretty much our front yard. I was taught the rules, and then set free to explore. Of course, being bored in Delta was your choice. Some people were, and I felt sorry for them.
Delta was also packed with characters who had made their individual lives a little iconic by their bigly actions. For example, there were Bernell and Blanche Ferry (son and mother) whose accidental antics included Blanche falling out of their old truck’s passenger door as Bernell rounded the corner to turn onto Main Street. She rolled like a roly-poly into the gutter, stood up, and waited for Bernell to go around the block and come pick her up again. That’s right: he did not stop for her. He went around the whole block. When he came back around and finally stopped by Blanche, she hopped in the truck, and off they went on their merry way. The scene looked like they were following a script– like they had done this a million times before. I felt privileged to observe the entire event. I’m still I awe of that old woman’s un-breaking bones.
I sure did, and it wasn’t even about politics– which I will gladly talk about one-on-one with anyone, in person, but I will not address the subject on Facebook or the website. So it wasn’t about that, but it was a mini brouhaha anyway. Ascot o’ the Day reminds me it is not my job to be in charge of other people’s ruffled feathers. Nevertheless, I did get called on the proverbial carpet by a reader who thought I was attacking marriage in yesterday morning’s post. Not so, my friends. Not at all. Not one bit.
I thought I was very clear in my post. My point was that marriage has its near-impossible moments of pain and discontent, as does life in general. Because of that fact, it’s helpful to have a stash of stupid tucked away in your love, in order to soldier on. Even the best of marriages get bumpy and convoluted occasionally. If you could see– before you got hitched– every land mine you’d experience in your marriage, there’s a good chance you might not have gone through with it. That’s why it’s good to be clueless/naive about some ventures. Being stupid about love is part of what makes us brave and hopeful enough to risk hitching our ball to someone’s chain. (That sounded very wrong, but you understand.) A healthy dose of stupid when you’re in love is, well, healthy.
So I apologize if anybody took offense. I won’t, however, budge on my belief in the value of stupid when it comes to marriage– and kids and all of the important people we choose to love. The stupidest things I’ve ever done, I did for love. Those stupid moves– and the courage they required– have earned me the strong, enduring relationships I have. That’s everything.
And it’s all because of stupid. Really, if you wanna know a secret, here it is: I will surely do more stupid things for people I love, until the minute I die. I recommend you do stupid things for those you love too. Will I sometimes get hurt for doing those stupid things? Yes. Will it eventually be worth it to me and to those I love? Yes. In fact, sometimes the stupider it is, the better it turns out. Why? Because The Kingdom of Stupid is where we all learn how to be better human beings. Nobody learns anything in The Kingdom of the Easy Things We Already Know.
[I really should have stuck with the word “naive” in yesterday morning’s post, instead of “stupid.” But “stupid” is probably closer to the truth. Plus, it’s funnier to say.]
Bow Tie o’ the Day is helping me procrastinate. I should put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher and push the button to start it. Nah, I’ll do it later. But why? What is so darn hard about putting dishes in the dishwasher racks, and then forgetting about them as they have a shower? Nothing.
I have a complicated relationship with dirty dishes, and it’s Mom’s fault. I blame her for everything that’s wrong with me. I have threatened to sue her over the years, but she isn’t a Rockefeller or Vanderbilt. Anyhoo… Mom has always been a control freak about her kitchen– especially about anything that went on in the kitchen sink. Her kitchen sink was her private domain. I have no idea why. It was nothing special– just a kitchen sink. But it was a forbidden spot. Just ask anyone who offered to do her dishes after a bigly family feast. Mom’s answer was usually NO. Her exact words would be something like, “I should say not!” Sometimes you’d even hear, “No way, Jose.” To be fair, as she got older and the family got bigger, she’d accept a teeny bit of help. (Mom made it clear she did not want a dishwasher installed in her kitchen–ever.)
My childhood was full of household chores, but doing the dishes wasn’t one of them. I dusted. I vacuumed. I mowed the lawn. I delivered honey. I moved Dad’s stinky work boots out of the living room. Dishes, on the other hand, were never put on my to-do list. Based on the few times I managed to wash the dishes, I hated the task with a vengeance. I think Mom took pity on me. Mom did trust Dad with the task on occasion. When she was out of town, Dad took on the washin’ o’ the dishes. I have a feeling she told him about my “allergy” to doing them.
[FYI Dad and I didn’t generate many dirty dishes when Mom was out of town. When it was my turn to fix dinner for us, I ordered pizza from the Rancher. When it was Dad’s turn, we ate fish-and-chips from A & W.]
Karma hits hard sometimes. When I went to college, my first job was as a dishwasher at Dixon’s Pies, in Ogden. I called Mom after my first shift and said, “Mom, you know all those dishes you didn’t make me do when I was growing up? I did them ALL last night.”
I spread the gospel of neckwear. For example, it is my firm belief that if everyone wore a bow tie every day, the world would be a tiny bit kinder and lighter. It is almost impossible to be rude to bow tie-wearin’ folk. Bow ties are too nifty to inspire hate– whether you’re wearing one or looking at someone who’s wearing one. A bow tie is like a wink. An oversized and/or untraditionally shaped bow tie is especially lovable. Neckties can be as charming as bow ties (especially the ties I collect), but ties have the added connotations of words like “work,” “stuffed shirt,” “boss,” “authority,” “uniform,” “formal” and “serious.” Bow ties tend to escape that sort of baggage.
This afternoon’s Tie o’ the Day is here to tell you that one way to lighten up the baggage of neckties is to wear a hat. A cowboy hat works nicely, but almost any hat will do– except the Pope’s hat. His hat doesn’t really make anyone feel like chillin’ out. In my opinion, baseball caps are the top choice of hat to pair with neckties because they are casual and reminiscent of youth, play, and sunshine. They’re also cheap, which means you can own a billion of them. And I assure you that clashing a tie with your wardrobe get-up crumbles the seriousness of ties too.
In fact, the main point of clash fashion is to remind you that you do not have to dress like everyone else. If you like solid colors, muted colors, matching, or uniforms, etc., that’s ok– if it really is your style. Your solitary fashion job is to look like you. Don’t dress like everybody else just because you think you’re supposed to: express your soul. Flex your soul. Experiment. You just might find that your soul looks like a purple-and-green paisley shirt, camo shorts, and a matador hat. (Ooooh, I’ll have to try that. It sounds like a fun-a-roo get-up!) Be ye not afraid of showing your soul in your attire.
Try it. The more you truly resemble your authentic self, the more you will feel at home in the life you’re living. And that’s exactly where you should feel at home, since it’s exactly where you always are. Seems quite obvious, eh?
Do you really think I always knew I would be dressing like I dress at age fifty-damn-five; that I’d be wearing at least two ties/bow ties per day; that I’d be taking infinite selfies o’ me and my neckwear; and that I’d be writing a blog about whatever my day’s neckwear inspires? I didn’t know this is what my soul looks like until I tried a few dozen different styles and modes of living over the decades. I experimented until I met my soul. Now, my style pretty much reflects my soul, and I can live in accordance with my soul’s values. And look at me now! I’m still not famous. Yet. But I am not homesick for my true soul– which I was for much of my life.
I was scrolling through my TIE O’ THE DAY media gallery, and I discovered some photos I hadn’t yet posted. These are from my grandnephew’s wedding reception, which was held a few weeks ago. Tie o’ the Evening is my go-to wedding tie, which I wear to all the hitchin’ celebrations I attend.
The joyous couple is Jayden Champneys and his wife, Payton. Let me say this about them: Hottest. Couple. Ever. I am not exaggerating. There are two men who Mom can never talk about without commenting on their handsome-idity, and they are Jayden and LDS Apostle Dieter F. Uchtdorf. Mention Jayden to Mom, and the first thing she says is “Oh, he is so handsome.” Mention Dieter F. Uchtdorf and Mom says, “It’s so nice to finally have a nice looking General Authority to look at during Conference, instead of those old fossils up on the stand.” (Trust me, she loves them all.)
[FYI Mom also refers to the Utah State Legislators as “those old fossils,” who need to be voted out of office as soon as possible. If Mom has an opinion, she will be sure you know what it is. But you probably already know she shares her thoughts, because you’ve most likely heard an opinion or two of hers– whether you wanted to or not.]
Anyhoo…By getting married, Jayden and Payton have committed themselves, not just to each other, but to the most complex relationship in existence. According to marriage statistics, the odds are against them spending the entirety of the rest of their lives together. It is not a reflection on them and their love. It is simply a fact of our culture.
To take on the extraordinary commitment of marriage is a testament to Jayden’s and Payton’s hope and faith in the power of love, and in their optimism about their future. Love is, by its very nature, a formidable optimism. Love also contains an integral strain of stupid. When two people merge and commit to a lifetime (or time and all eternity, as is said in LDS culture) of facing the world together– for and with each other–, it demonstrates a healthy kind of naivete. That is not a bad thing. We need to be unaware of the difficulty of some ventures– like marriage, or having children.
If we knew the struggles and pain of taking proper care of spouses and kids, most of us would be too frightened to pair up. There is a lot of heartache involved in caring about people to whom we give our whole hearts. And for that reason, it’s good to be stupid about the complex realities of making a family. We commit to someone and– despite and because of the difficulties– we eventually grow insight and wisdom about nurturing a lasting relationship. If we pay attention, we gradually get un-naive. We eventually get un-stupid. We get better at growing the kind of love that can beat the odds. A daring stupidity is necessary to a successful and enduring marriage.
My Bolo/Tie o’ the Day combo is one of my fave clever ties. I thought it was quite a fitting choice to wear home from our Tucson/Las Vegas trip– Western theme and all. Sometimes I wear appropriate things. Sometimes, I can choose clothing and neckwear that “match” my situation. Not often, but on occasion. Most of the time it makes me feel oogy and itchy to blend in, or match, or fit in– whatever you wanna call it. It ain’t my true soul.
In this photo, I sit outside the SLC airport, waiting for the shuttle bus to take us to our faithful car at the end of our traipsing to and fro. My minutes-new saddle purse is in the orange bag. (I know, I know. I still owe y’all the purse story post. It’s coming.) I didn’t want to show off the purse in this particular photo, cuz its stunningness would have taken attention away from Tie. Tie deserves to shine in its own spotlight.
I’m quite proud of my magenta suitcase. It is designed to be extra lightweight, and I got it soon after my surgery so it would be a little easier for me to maneuver and heft through airports. Of course, on our first couple of post-surgery trips, Suzanne lugged everything for me anyway– so I guess it was nice of me to provide her a lighter suitcase in which to haul my stuff. I’m so thoughtful.
Although we have at least four concerts to attend in the next few months, they are in Utah. We don’t have any travel on our schedule for the near future. And I’m ok with that. I can drive down to visit Mom more often. And I’ve got stuff to do here. I do not consider myself a “real” homemaker (although I guess I am), but I am a homebody. Suzanne is too.
Suzanne sits in one of two spots in the house when she’s home. She sits in either the loveseat or in front of her Ultimate SewingBox. She’s pretty much a statue. She sits motionless, except for her hands. They never stop crocheting, sewing, piecing quilts together, etc. Her body sits still the entire evening, but she accomplishes oodles of craftiness with her paws. She creates constantly. She has a ton to show for her not moving.
I, on the other hand, flit and flutter around the house constantly. I call it “birding.” I “bird” around. I never light. I don’t know if I accomplish anything or not, but I haven’t yet heard Suzanne tell me– or tell anyone else– I’m a useless waste o’ space.
I really have nothing to show for all my Tasmanian-Devil-around-the-house movements. It is true that the ties are hung snuggly in their closets, and the bow ties are safely tucked into their card catalog drawers– a dozen per drawer. At the end of the day, the neckwear is always clean, fed, and put to bed. I guess that counts as doing something. And it is also true that I have somewhere in the neighborhood of 200 notebooks/journals full of poems and stories I’ve conjured up over the years. That should count as something. Also, I keep Skitter pottied. I guess that’s something that shows. Or it’s something that doesn’t show, if you wanna look at it that way.
[Let me first say that I am thrilled that y’all enjoy my “Mom posts.” Yesterday’s post photo of her shows one of those priceless moments that remind me what a great life I’ve had, just because Mom is my mom. If you missed the post, go back and check it out. You’ll be glad you did. And now… on to this morning’s post.]
Bow Tie o’ the Day is a clue that it was Mardi Gras the day I selfied these photos. I was being a tourist in Tucson at the time– two weeks ago. While Suzanne was working her pencils to the nub, I and my red rental truck covered as much sight-seeing ground as possible. And although I get a kick out of checking out the natural landscape wherever I go, the Tucson-area sight that I grooved on the most was a man-made structure called Biosphere 2.
Bioshpere 2 is a 3.14-acre, sealed, glass habitat designed to replicate and study different earth climates (including an ocean), and to sustain human life– for the purpose of testing the viability of creating a self-sustaining research/living station on other planets.
It was constructed in the late 80’s, and the first experiment began in the early 90’s. Eight people– biologists, scientists, engineers, and one doctor– lived in complete isolation in Biosphere 2 for two years. (No tv, no cell phones, folks.) While there, they spent their time doing environmental research and maintaining the complex’s intricate and complicated infrastructure. The mission wasn’t a complete success, and oxygen had to be pumped into the building a few times throughout the two-year experiment. There was also a problem with consistently growing enough food for the residents. My guilty-fave fact about the project is that by the time the experiment was over, none of the participants were speaking to each other. And they would not speak to each other for years. Not surprising.
There was a second “mission” test, with another group of residents, which lasted a few months. It was more successful. They were able to produce enough food for themselves, and no outside oxygen needed to be pumped in.
The University of Arizona now owns the building, which is open for tourists. The earth climates, from rainforest to desert, still exist and thrive. When you walk through each one and into the next, you can feel the temperature and humidity gradually change. Environmental research continues within the glass pyramid. Other buildings now dot the property, and are used for scientific research by the University of Arizona– as well as for conferences and classrooms.
You can see from one of my photos that I also learned a surprising bit of fake news: The Savanna has a basement. 🤣 😁 I wonder if it’s full of boxes and bins filled with storage that wouldn’t fit in its closets or garage.
If you’ve been a regular reader of TIE O’ THE DAY for a few years, I’m sure you’ve been looking forward to today’s Tie o’ St. Patrick’s Day annual photo. I snapped it when Mom was staying with us in Centerville three years ago. She donned this hat and tie and joined in with us and the festive neckwear for our St. Pat’s Day celebration. Since then, I have posted this photo annually on this green beer, corned-beef-and-cabbage, Irish holiday. This picture is– and always will be– THE post’s St. Paddy’s Day snapshot. Mom is my favorite leprechaun.
If you’ve ever experienced my mother in person, you can imagine this fact: Mom was cool before the word “cool” was even invented. No matter how cool I might be, I will always be cool in Mom’s magnificent coolness shadow. I love her. She’s the first earthly blessing I ever got.