Month: March 2022

Posted on

Meeting My College Pal For The First Time In A Billion Years

Jane deserves for me to don a cape and an ascot.

My old pal, Jane, belongs to a limited circle of people in my life who have been pivotal in my development as a mature human being. These people have helped me in my quest to be a seeker, an empathetic citizen, and a giver-backer—among other things. Jane was the first compatriot I found when I was attending Weber State. She unapologetically read a wide variety of excellent books—and talked about them passionately—which made me feel like it really was a perfectly acceptable calling for an adult to spend way too much time reading and discussing books most people had never heard of. In fact, it was a badge of honor. Jane is the first person outside of my tiny Delta around whom I didn’t feel foreign. Whenever we went to movies, she brought a book to read—just in case. I completely understood this. Jane was in my tribe.

After college, our lives happened and we lost touch for a few decades. We found each other again through TIE O’ THE DAY, not so long ago. Yesterday, I finally visited Jane at her abode. We were in the same room together for the first time in forever—spilling the details of our strikingly different life stories to each other. We talked over each other’s talking, and interrupted each others’ stories to ask questions that sent us on tangents—in the way only solid friends can get away with doing. The hours were punctuated with loud laughter-like-fireworks. Indeed, our conversation was long, but it’s not finished: I still have a portfolio of questions to ask her about her and her family, and more of her life’s adventures. Strategically, I didn’t tell Jane everything about how I’ve spent my post-college existence either, so that I will have to go back for another visit. She’ll have to move and not tell me where she’s going, if she doesn’t want me showing up at her front door occasionally. I refuse to let more years go by before we get together again.

Amazingly, Jane returned two books to me which I forgot I had loaned her in the 80’s. Obviously, she is still in my tribe.

FYI Jane is a cape-worthy and ascot-worthy person, so I wore both.

Posted on

Glad, But Apprehensive

I went sorta matchy with Bow Tie o’ the Day and Vest o’ the Day this afternoon. Matchy, blendy clothes make me seasick, so I try not to look at myself when I’m being matchy and/or blendy. Aside from trying to keep the seasickness at bay, I’m feeling both excited and apprehensive about something wondrous I get to do tomorrow: I get to spend some time with a Weber State University pal I’ve had no communication with for nearly 40 years. Our conversations were some of the highlights of my college days. Oh, I can’t wait for our meet-‘n’-gab, but we’ve probably changed bigly since the early 80’s. For one thing, we’re both 40 years older, and 40 years of living can change a broad. What if we don’t like the person each other has become? What if we find each other boring or politically haywire? What if a profane word falls out of my mouth and it’s not appreciated? (I didn’t swear back in my college days, but now I’m old enough to know that the goings-on of this world occasionally require an appropriate swear word.) What if we find we have absolutely nothing to say to each other about books, which were a bigly topic for us back then?

And what precisely is the right thing for me to wear to visit someone I haven’t seen or talked to in almost 4 decades anyway? I know you won’t believe it, but my attire can be a bit shocking to the system of someone who isn’t used to seeing me regularly in-person. Maybe I should consider toning down my clothing choices a notch for the visit. I wouldn’t want to end up having to find a defibrillator for my pal just seconds after she opens the door to let me in. “Hi, nice to see you again. Let me call an ambulance to jump-start your heart!” I know I’m getting ahead of myself here, but that’s kind of what I do—thank you, Bigly Bipolar Head o’ Mine. But I shall ponder important choices. To cape, or not to cape?

Posted on

What’s A Girl To Do?

I was thinking about the future of my head hairs, and that got me ruminating about mustaches. And that made me think of my bigly MAX wood Bow Tie o’ the Day, so that’s how I decided what piece of neckwear I wanted to wear this morning. All this cogitation about my head hairs is because my hairs are currently undecided, as to their next formation. I’ve kept a shaved head for just about a year. The style feels good and I can see my face for what it really looks like, but a shaved head is not the most flattering cut I’ve ever had. Besides, Suzanne has gotten too used to my prickly head, and she doesn’t rub it when it’s freshly shaved like she did at first. I think she’s over any fascination she once had with my stubble. Of course, she says I can do whatever I want with my head hairs. But I know better. What she thinks about my hairs does count. I know she would like my asymmetrical hairdo back, but I don’t know if I’m ready to start pointing at my lopsided hairs ‘do and saying things like, “You can’t cut down a symme tree🌲.” Like my head hairs, I am still undecided as to whether to shave or grow.

Posted on

My Puffy 2022 Oscar Gown

You likely saw Jada Pinkett Smith wearing this dress on the Red Carpet last night, but I wore it, too. If it’s good enough for her, it’s dandy enough for me. I realized that while shaving my head hairs for the past year, I have been unwittingly and gladly showing my support of Jada’s hair battle with alopecia. And I’m proud to have done it for Jada. She and I go way back to our Baltimore days. We’re tight. (Okay. I saw her in person once, in her hometown of Baltimore, from 25 feet and 50 bodies away. But still… I count it as one of my life’s Brushes With Greatness—most of which I can’t tell you about.)😉

Posted on

Guess What’s Sexy

I remember when I was 5—before I was even a student at the long-gone Delta Elementary School on Main Street—I fell in love with a single word. Mom had been doing some painting around the house, and I overheard her say to somebody, “Blah, blah, blah, TURPENTINE, blah, blah, blah.” And then I overheard her say to someone on the phone, “Yadda, yadda, yadda, TURPENTINE, yadda, yadda, yadda.” I remember saying TURPENTINE myself, over and over until I could pronounce it like a pro. What was this word that skipped so jauntily through my lips? It was downright fun to say. When I asked Mom about the word, she explained what it was and what she used it for. I saw the cupboard where she kept the can of turpentine (and other paint-related stuff), and I would occasionally open the cupboard door and stand there staring at the magic can o’ turpentine. I’d look at the word and try to memorize how it was spelled. Mostly, I repeated the word to myself—well…repeatedly for days and probably weeks. Much to the annoyance of my family and pals. The word itself sounded like a catchy song lyric to me. It felt like singing to say it out loud. To me, TURPENTINE is the first word I have memory of collecting for future use. It was, in a sense, the moment I became a writer. I was hopelessly in love with this word, and I knew I always would be.

Writing is what I do every day. Sometimes slinging words together even keeps me up all night. Words are my most valuable tools. A writer is what I am. Specifically, I am a poet (mostly). I can tell you this: poets are odd. A real poet will gleefully give up eating dinner for a week to save up enough money just to buy a newer, thicker thesaurus. Yes, back in my struggling college/grad school student days, I somewhat regularly skipped meals in order to have the necessary funds to acquire books. And I would not be surprised if I find my literary self skipping meals again—just to prove I still can. The darnedest things tickle a poet’s fancy.

With that in mind, don’t tell anyone about these photos I’m letting you see. The photos show me looking at the literary equivalent of a naughty magazine. Not the content, just the form. This is poetry porn. I bought this book of poetry by C.D. Williams, and when I saw it had a centerfold, I fell in love yet again. Poetry centerfolds are my new obsession. Now that you’ve seen the centerfold, I must hide this poetry porn somewhere Suzanne will not be able to find it. I told you poets were odd, right? 😮🤣😂📓🗒✒️✏️🖍

BTW Tie o’ the Day is covered in fancy bound notebooks and various writing instruments. This tie says, “The writer is in!”

Posted on

Free-Range Helen

I survived my “crazy head” doctor appointment intact. It was a productive appointment, which means I probably won’t be jumping off a bridge or a tall building in the near future. By now, I’m sure you know: I joke about my bipolar brain. Poking fun at it helps me live with it. I have another appointment with the same doctor next week. I better hurry and make up some problems to bring up during our therapy session, since my life is all perfection and more perfection. (You do know I’m being sarcastic, right?)I took this selfie in the grocery store this afternoon. I am organic myself. I was raised free-range. I was raised cage-free. I am meat! But I am also a genetically modified organism (GMO) at the same time, because I have eaten all kinds of things that aren’t organic—like tasty, edible foods. And I’m not apologizing. 🍿🍪🥓🍟🌮

Posted on

I’m Not Available Right Now

Tie-dyed Tie o’ the Day and I are having a Zoom doctor appointment right now. Yes, it is time once again for me to check in with my “crazy head” doctor—to see if I still have a crazy head. Hint to y’all: I know I’ll have my bipolar head always. These sorts of brain tilts don’t go away. In short, I have to learn to get along with my own mind. I can only work at getting better at managing my bipolar noggin. Collecting neckties and bow ties is one of the many tactics I use to cope with my brain situation. So far, so good. 🐝

Posted on

Like A Prize In The Cereal Box

This is my non-paisley new shirt. It came folded and boxed to my front porch, with an added bonus: a cardboard Tie o’ the Day stuck in its collar. A loud shirt and a flimsy tie! All in one package! Wahoo! (There were also free pins in the folded shirt, but I refuse to wear those. I gifted them to Suzanne’s pin cushion, so she can share in the fruits of my bigly bonus, too.) I am certainly a passionate and complicated gal, but—as you can tell—I am a very, very, very easy gal to please. Indeed, sometimes I am positive that The Secret o’ Life is for each one of us to simply regard the unexpected, silly things that cross our paths as if they are full-blown prizes—meant for each of us to find and share widely with those around us.📍👔📍🙌 👏🏻👌😲😃 Hey, it beats poisoning your soul thinking life’s nothing more than a dumpster fire at the site of a train wreck. 🗑🔥🚃