Bow Tie o’ the Day loves word-play as much as I do. We tend to create clever, silly costumery instead of scary outfits. When our troops were knee-deep in Iraq in the 2000’s, I wore this costume for a Halloween or two. The phrase “The War in Iraq” was omni-present on tv and radio then. To create this party get-up, I simply morphed that phrase into THE WAR IN MY RACK costume. (Note: This is not any kind of political commentary, although my heart is always with our troops.)
BTW Ancient birthday salutations on this 30th of October to my niece, Mimi Tucker, who is my Mini-me—my doppelgänger. You’re yet another tough ol’ Wright broad, following a famous/infamous tradition. We love yer feisty, funny guts, Amanda Jo!
Tie o’ the Day and I will wear anything (almost) at any time (almost). It’s sort of my job to do so. The clashier, the better. The more you-can’t-look-away-even-though-it-kinda-freaks-out-your-eyes, the better. I know I’m dressed like my true self if my attire incites at least one of two things: a chuckle, and/or a conversation—even if the conversation is with yourself. I am ecstatic when both goals are met in a tblog post, simultaneously. That’s why I make the bigly bucks, folks. I am really just a very uncomplicated, complicated chick with a brimming Tie Room.
This cartoon showed up in my Facebook messages yesterday, along with a brief note from Peggy’s daughter, Julie. (For anyone who doesn’t already know, Peggy was Mom’s best friend for over 60 years, until Peggy passed away. They each cooked and cooked. And they were proud of their bewitching ways.) Julie wrote that she had come across this a few weeks ago, and even made a card out of it to send to Mom. The cartoon fits them to a “T.” I messaged back my thanks to Julie for thinking to make it into a card and send it to Mom—as well as letting me in on it. No sooner had I hit the return key to send the message than I realized “Helen” and “Peggy” were in Mom’s handwriting. It was also a NEW YORKER magazine cartoon. It dawned on me this thing started out with me finding it in a magazine years ago! I was beginning to recall a general sense of how this came full circle.
Here’s my memory’s best theory: I saw the cartoon in THE NEW YORKER magazine and—recognizing my two favorite classy witches, Mom and Peggy—tore it out or copied it, then handed it to Mom. I have no doubt that when I gave it to her, I said something snarky like, “Mom, here’s a picture of you and Peggy in the news again, wreaking havoc.” Of course, Mom must have then passed it on to Peggy (because I don’t remember doing it), but not before making it funnier by clearly identifying who’s who, by writing both of their names on it for all the world to see. Mom and Peggy, together, were The Bobbsey Twins. I was merely an occasional third wheel in the drinking-Pepsi-and-driving movie of their lives.
You know how I am about coincidences, signs, and such. As I’ve said before, folks, we’re all connected. Everything is connected. What we do will come back to us. We will likely one day need aid from the very people we have hurt or ignored. That, too, will come back to torment us, if only in our own memories.
This cartoon is just a simple, light-hearted drawing that found its image all the way back to me, causing me to think of Mom and Peggy with a full and grateful joy. I’m glad it was a good thing that found it’s way back in my direction. Imagine if it had been a mean-spirited thing I had said or done to them that ricocheted back to me—with Peggy three-years-gone now, and Mom now quarantined in her room at the care center. I am happy to report that as far as I can recall, I have no regrets about my dealings with either of the two giant witches who so shaped my sensibilities and taught me to sharpen my broomstick when necessary. Besides, I have a feeling that if I’d ever gotten out of line with either of those dames, I would have gotten my what-goes-around-comes-around karma back from both of them right then and there.
FYI I did a little research about the cartoon this afternoon, and found that it was drawn by Sam Gross, and published in the June 23, 2014 issue of THE NEW YORKER. I had a subscription to the magazine then, as I do now. And it is worth every penny the subscription has cost me over the decades, just to have Julie send this to me yesterday.
Yup, I’m still in my pajamas. Still recuperating from being old, or whatever condition I’m in. I’ve been napping around the living room today, going from couch to love seat, then back again. I’ve been quite boring to myself and Skitter. I’m just so bloody tired. I fall asleep at the drop of a hat, or the drop of a tie. Full disclosure: I did walk upstairs to the Tie Room once to grab my afternoon post accessories. Different Hat o’ the Day. Different Tie o’ the Day. Different Face Mask o’ the Day. I wouldn’t want to wear the exact same outfit in two different posts—ever. I do, however, stand by repeating the words on my mask. We should be nice humans to other humans, over and over again, every day. That Masked Message goes with any outfit I could ever possibly dream up.
When I tell y’all about my aches and pains—whether mental or physical, I am not in search of a pity party. I am not saying, “woe is me.” I just tell you what’s up with me and the residents of the Tie Room. And what’s up is that yesterday I woke up feeling like I’d been run over by a golf cart. My head ached, and I never get headaches. My whole body ached. It felt like a belt was tightening around my ribs. Even my Spock ear hurt. The bottoms of my feet kept cramping. I am the whitest person on the planet, but yesterday I was whiter than that. I made a bed on the couch, which I haven’t done since right after I was recovering from my Hanky Panky decapitation surgery. That’s been two years now.
I had my flu shot a few weeks ago, so I figured it wasn’t the flu. I could tell Suzanne was worried about me because she called me from work, via FaceTime, to ask me all kinds of questions about which of the COVID-19 symptoms I might be feeling. You have to understand that when Suzanne is at work, Suzanne is at work. She doesn’t know home exists. That is not a criticism, it is just a slight exaggeration. I am simply making the point that Suzanne was worried about me. She doesn’t text, call, or Face Time me from work unless there is a bigly problem. Yesterday morning, I guess she considered my health a bigly problem. She even ordered me not to die.
Anyhoo… I answered Suzanne’s questions about any possible COVID-19 symptoms I might be having. Suzanne said the questionnaire she was reading from said, based on my answers, I should go to urgent care. I don’t know everything, but I sort of know my body, and I highly doubt COVID-19 is the culprit. Nevertheless, I promised Suzanne if I didn’t feel better the next morning (today), I would hop, skip, and jump to the urgent care clinic to be tested.
Well, I woke up this morning feeling just enough better that I doubt I’ll be going for a COVID-19 test in the immediate future. My head still hurts, but not as much. My feet are still cramping up weirdly, but not as much. My chest is feeling bear-hugged too tightly, but not as tightly as it felt yesterday. I am still whiter than my usual whitest-person-on-the-planet pallor, but I’m not as white as I was yesterday.
I’m starting to think there is such a thing as “aging pains.” I remember having growing pains in my legs when I was about 10, and Mom rubbed them down with alcohol so I could fall asleep at night. Those kinds of pains mysteriously came and went for a couple of years. Just as mysteriously, I think I’m starting to have the opposite kind of pains: those growing old pains. Some days an arbitrary pain, ache, or twitch shows up and sticks around for a few hours or a few days, then it’s just as mysteriously gone. I will always be fish-belly white, but my aging pains will surely come and go. No worries here.
Skitter and I click. From the first time we met at the dog rescue in December of 2013, Skitter and I felt a kinship with each other’s peculiarities. I think we must have recognized each other’s raggedy edges. Her previous mistreatment and my constant bipolar rapids somehow recognized each other, and we formed a connection that has functioned to the betterment of both of us. Suzanne and Rowan recognized it happen that day too. That’s a sweet and sappy story, but it’s also true. Today, however, actual mind-reading was involved going on between The Skit and I.
While I was filling up the recycling can, I got a song stuck in my head. I could not shut it off. And it was completely out of nowhere. Worse, it was a smarmy tune from the 70’s! It was Debby Boone’s “You Light Up My Life.” I haven’t heard or thought of the song in decades. I stood staring into the recycling can, trying to figure out what was in there that could have possibly set off that song in my mind. There was nothing I could see. I left the garage and went upstairs to wash a load of face masks for the week, and that song kept playing in my head. I turned on other music to drown it out, but no—my life was still getting lit up by Debby Boone’s voice between my ears, over and over. Aaaaaaaarrrrrrggggghhhhhh! It was becoming painful to my brain. I thought: How can the repetition of such a syrupy sweet song cause an amount of irritation which makes me want to wretch and say swear words at the same time?
I went downstairs and poured myself a stiff drink of watermelon-flavored sparkling water, then sat down by Skitter, who had been nowhere around me and my house chores. Skitter—as you can see here—had clearly used her telepathic powers to hear the song that was stuck in my head, and she had tried to rescue me by wrapping herself in the candy corn Halloween lights to send me a message: I light up her life. It, of course, caused me to laugh so hard I forgot all about the stoopid Debby Boone song. Skitter and I have been singing new Bruce Springsteen songs together ever since the dastardly Debby Boone tune flew the proverbial coop of my noggin.
BTW I’m not sure if that was a tall tale or a tall “tail.” I guess it depends on whether I wrote it or Skitter did.
October is not just the month of Halloween celebrations, whose basic colors are black and orange. We know it is also Breast Cancer Awareness Month, whose symbolic color is pink. October is also Domestic Violence Awareness Month, symbolized by the color purple. With that in mind, Skitter and I don some of our purple today to tell you about something called the PURPLE LEASH PROJECT. A huge number of domestic violence victims who have pets say a major reason they don’t leave an abusive situation is because their pets aren’t allowed to stay with them in domestic violence shelters. The PURPLE LEASH PROJECT is trying to help people and pets stay together to heal, by working to create more pet-friendly domestic violence shelters across the country. If you want to know more about how to help the situation, please visit PurpleLeashProject.com
TIE O’ THE DAY hopes you will reach out every day to do good in the world, in any way you can—for any causes that matter to you.
Y’all know I have a one-track mind, which pretty much begins and ends with Ties/Bow Ties o’ Every Day. Some days my one-track mind is one-trackier than usual, and today is one of those days. I’m likely suffering a hangover from the final 2020 presidential debate which was last night—even though I could tolerate watching it for only a grand total of 15 minutes. Golly, I’m glad the debate farce is over for another 4 more years. Folks, whatever monstrosities exist in the world, I’m grateful to know I can always count on my mighty neckwear to revive my troubled soul. Every person needs something ever-unfailing in their life. Everyone needs a go-to passion. I hope you’ve found your thing, like I’ve found mine.
FYI My apologies to some of you tblog email subscribers who haven’t been getting pix with the text the last couple of posts. (I hope it came through on this post.) I’m working on the technical problem, which means it might or might not be fixed at some point. Photos are showing up as they should on the website itself and on the posts relayed to Facebook, so you can find them there. I hate when technology that has always worked for me suddenly stops working, for no discernible reason. Makes me wanna put on another bow tie.
During the pandemic, Bow Tie o’ the Day and I have tried to keep fit. But a regular routine can turn boring sometimes. To keep things interesting, I developed this new head-holding, high-stepping walk to burn extra energy. Wearing heavy boots adds weightlifting to the walk. The dress also adds its own challenge to the workout. Here I am, tromping through the growth around Farmington Bay. If you see me out walking, HONK, if you like bow ties!
Re: yesterday’s post—This photo didn’t show up with the text. I dunno why. I hope this priceless sight shows up for y’all e-subscribers now. The text will make sense with its accompanying photo.
