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Pet Peeve Alert!

Bow Tie o’ the Day presents a map of the planet, and Shirt o’ the Day presents the heavens above us. They are a perfect pairing for me to present something which ticks me off to the moon and back. My peeve? The general thoughtless incivility which seems to have crept into every nook, cranny, and pothole of public and private discourse– from grocery store chit chat to politics, and every other kind of conversation or op-ed in between. It’s so often childish in the sense of being rude, crude, inaccurate, and just plain mean.

That got me thinking about how we say everyone is a child of God. Do we really believe that? I don’t think we always treat others as if they’re as much a child of God as we think we are. In fact, at times, I’m starting to be uncomfortable with terms like “child of God.” And it’s more and more difficult for me to be comfortable with any statement whose gist is that “We are all God’s children.” Nope. Those words and sentiments don’t really resonate for me completely, with the way we behave toward each other right now.

Don’t get your feathers in an uproar about what I just wrote. Of course, I know there is a difference between being “childlike” and being “childish.” Childlike = good. Childish = unacceptable. That’s not my problem.

Here’s the thing. I think we should add another term to be spoken with as much fervor as we say “child of God,” and it should be “adult of God.” We should grow up. We should become civil to one another– whether it’s in politics; in the drive-thru line at Burger King; or even in the crowded pool lane where you’re swimming laps. Let’s grow up. Let’s be considerate and say “please” and “thank you.” And let’s mean it. Be a child of God who acts like an adult of God.

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Sabbath Stuff

First of all, that isn’t dandruff you can see in my hair. I’m liking the slicked-back hair look right now, but I cannot find a gel that doesn’t become flakey throughout the day. If anyone can suggest a product to help me out on this, please let me know. Flaking hair gel is not the look I’m trying to achieve. (I’ve tried pomades, but they’re too greasy and don’t hold my hair in place.)

I went to Provo yesterday to attend Bishop Travis’ ward. He’s always been a swell nephew. Travis is a superb speaker, and a listener can’t help but learn a lesson or eight from him, whether they want to or not. Whenever we visit Bishop Travis’ ward, I and my SWWTRN sit by his wife, Bishopette Collette. Collette always notices and comments on my bow ties and/or cufflinks, which makes me get a swelled head and causes me to feel way cooler than I really I am.

The reason I chose to wear my Skittles Bow Tie o’ the Day to church is because everybody knows you have to be prepared with a stash of little treats in Sacrament Meeting. Treats must be strategically parceled out to keep the antsy small children quiet. I’m a bigly kid and don’t need to snack at church, but I still like having the idea of candy. Just wearing the representation of candy is enough to keep me under control.

Eating mints helps shut me up and keeps me from bawling and running down the aisles too. I like to suck on mints during church meetings. I don’t know why. It’s just a habit. Mints aren’t treats though. I have proof: Kids know treats and if you give a kid an Altoid, it gets spit out almost immediately. Thus, mints are not treats.

My Rubik’s Cube Cufflinks o’ the Day are also appropriate to wear to church. Church is one of the places you can go to figure out answers to your existential questions: Why am I here? What’s the point of everything? How can I make my life have meaning? etc..

These questions and their answers are a kind of puzzle, and we have to shuffle ideas around in our heads and hearts, in order to put existential concepts together in a way that makes sense to us. As we go through difficult experiences and changes in our lives, the puzzle can get shuffled around. We find ourselves having to take it apart, make adjustments, then put it back together to make sense of it again. If we’re honest with ourselves, we can admit that we have to re-do our puzzle work to some degree many times. That’s called being a mortal human being.

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And Another Red Carpet Possibility

And then I saw this Mary Poppins-esque outfit! It even comes with its own Tie o’ the Day. I especially dig the Army boots. I can see them kickin’ bigly fashion butt at the Academy Awards. Julie Andrews won the Best Actress Oscar for her role as Mary Poppins, and I’m sure this kind of attire had something to do with that triumph. That’s what makes this get-up one of my Red Carpet options.

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Maybe. I Dunno.

Yesterday I chose my Oscars gown, but then… look what I found. This is sooooo me! I’m reconsidering my Red Carpet attire. How could I not? Bow Tie o’ the Day hopes I’ll choose this outfit instead of the dress, so it can escort me to the event. But the gown I showed you yesterday is fabulous too. I’m not sure of my choice anymore. I’m being wishy-washy again.

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Physical Tie-rapy

Tie o’ the Day and I showed up at what I thought would be my last day at Physical Therapy, but I was wrong. I guess I will be attending one more week of shrugging, pointing my wood “wand,” and yanking on a bigly rubber band. I’ll just have to deal with it.

Tie was the cause of a minor commotion at PT. It was the first time I had worn a tie and not a bow tie to PT. Someone asked me a question about why the change, and then that turned into more questions about how the tie got so tiny. I explained it was a kid tie. The office assistant asked where she could buy some of the shrimpy critters for her kids, and I told her I got mine at Seagull Book. That prompted somebody else to stand all amazed and chime in to ask if I was LDS. Well, my answer to that question turned into a whole sprawling novel. And before I knew it, I had mentioned TIE O’ THE DAY.

Before I left PT, a few of the folks had already been on their phones, checking out the website for themselves. And when I got home to write a post, I noticed the website had grown by two more subscribers, from my day at PT. Apparently, I am a dynamic missionary.

Well, okay then.

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I Was 21. That Explains A Lot Of Things.

Bow Tie o’ the Day presents me in 1985. This was back in the day when you were required to have your Social Security number visible on your ID. Here’s a noggin’ o’ some hairs I was pleased to have. I liked this cut. And yup, that’s a yellow tail hanging down on my right shoulder. I had that for a couple of years, and I changed the color often. I remember going red, blue, and green at different times with my pet tail.

Mom hated the tail. While I was in Graduate School at the U of U, Sandy Ferrell cut my hair when I was in Delta during school breaks. Mom got more and more apoplectic every time she saw the bright chunk of hairs just dangling there on my shoulder. She threatened to pay Sandy $50 to “accidentally” chop off my colorful tail. No need. About a couple of months after this photo was taken, I shaved my head for the first time. Unfortunately for me, I shaved off my head fur during the winter, and my head froze bigly.

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Sixth Month Incision Update

It’s time once again to check in with my scar. It has been almost six months to the day since I got sawed in half and put back together. I’m quite pleased with my scar’s progress, and I even think my it’s kinda pretty. At the same time, my scar also gives me street cred when I flash it in the ‘hood.

Photo # 1. This is a repost. Luau hula dog Bow Tie o’ the Day posed with me and my incision while I selfied this pic in my hospital bed at Huntsman. Please excuse the slight wardrobe malfunction in the upper left corner of the photo. I blame my epidural for drugging my censor ability at the time I snapped this.

Photo # 2. Bow Tie o’ the Day represents the screws and bolts my surgeon did not have to use to put me back together. I got stapled of course.

I thought it would be painful to have my staples removed, which they did right before they wheeled me out of the hospital. But I hardly felt their removal. I watched each staple as it was pulled out, and the entire thing was a smooth and graceful procedure. The doctor wouldn’t let me keep the staples though. The minuscule staple entry holes around my scar are almost completely invisible at this point. I have been told by my medical-y friends that the scar itself will gradually whiten-up over time.

At this point, my scar itches me quite a bit, and the area around it sometimes feels like I have a deep bruise inside my gut beneath the scar. I feel a tug or a pull inside now and then, but the strangest feeling I’ve had is feeling as if a strip of Velcro is being pulled off my innards. Nothing to worry about. I’m having an interesting adventure in my inner self, literally and metaphorically.

Sometimes, when I feel frustrated with my lack of energy and my various tweaks and pokes, I tell Suzanne I wish I’d never had the surgery. And I truly mean it for that moment. Occasionally, it’s a very long moment. But then I remember Suzanne pushed me to have the procedure because she says she wants me around for the rest of her life. I come to my senses then. Without the surgery, my expiration date would be years less than it should be. When I think going through the operation wasn’t worth it to me, I remember I’m not just one person. I’m my family and my friends. I’m especially Suzanne.

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My Cold, Cold Heart

The first thing Suzanne said to me, with surprise, when she came downstairs this morning was, “You’re not wearing a bow tie!? ” I said, “I know I put one on, but I don’t see it anywhere.” Wood, camouflage-design Bow Tie o’ the Day is hiding from something. And I’m betting it’s trying to dodge the cold.

I had to be at physical therapy at 7:30 this morning. It’s a ten-minute drive to the clinic, but it took me 18 minutes just to clean off the car. It was 20 degrees outside. Even bow ties get frostbite at that temperature. I hate the cold. In case you weren’t clear on that, let me yell this: I HATE THE COLD! Today’s cold is so penetrating it has frozen my heart.

We have a two-car garage, but like everyone else I’ve ever known with a two-car garage, there’s only room for one car. There’s too much stuff nobody needs but nobody wants to get rid of taking up all the space. One vehicle can barely squeeze inside.

It’s only right that Suzanne’s car always gets the garage in winter, since she’s the one that has to be at a job at a certain time five days a week. It would be wrong for her to have to freeze in the cold, scraping her windows before heading to her office. I mean– when it gets right down to it, I freely admit my poetry does not come close to paying for the garage. Suzanne’s job does. Suzanne wins, as well she should.

Suzanne is convinced we will one day be able to fit two vehicles in the garage. I laugh at that thought. I live in reality. Suzanne usually lives in reality, but not on this issue. Between us, we have acquired 108 years of material stuff, most of which we don’t need but we don’t want to get rid of. And we’ll only acquire more things. That’s what people do, and everything can’t live in the house. Especially when the house is already full to the brim with sewing supplies and neckwear.