Kandinsky-style Bow Tie o’ the Day and I spent the bulk of our afternoon clashing our attire at my doctor appointment with my pain management doctor. I refer to her as Dr. Bow since the word “bow” sounds like a syllable in her real name. And she is a TIE O’ THE DAY fan.
The appointment went well. You know that irritatingly vague 1-10 pain scale the docs use to pin down the seriousness of your current pain? When Dr. Bow asked what my pain level was today, I said a lower number than I’ve said in 20 years of being asked. I happily said I was at a 5. I might as well have won the pain level lottery. I’m feeling a-ok.
It’s here again: That day of the week when Bow Tie o’ the Day and I must crawl into my Tyvek hazard suit, for the purpose of de-pooping Skitter droppings from the back yard. It’s a dangerous job.
Booked-out Tie o’ the Day is hanging out with the computer keyboards. As much as I am smitten by ties and bow ties, I revel in words. One-syllable words, bigly words, odd words, unpronounceable words, and so on. If it’s a word, it’s my buddy. I’ve never bothered to learn a second language, cuz I haven’t yet finished with all the English words and their various combinations. It’s a good thing I’m a writer, or I’d have no idea what to do with the words in my head. They’d probably turn into voices, which would probably make my head implode.
I even find a use for most swear words. Not the bad, bad, bad ones. They make me cringe. But a basic swear word is sometimes the exact right word to use. It makes a point. It adds emphasis. I get tired of profanity if it’s just there to take up space. It’s usually unimaginative. In almost all instances of swear word usage, there is a more descriptive, more precise word to convey whatever message you’re trying to get across to someone else. I admit I use the tamer profanities on occasion, but I would not say that swearing is one of my prominent characteristics. However, I recently benefited bigly-time by letting out a few “hell”‘s and “damn”‘s I didn’t know anyone heard.
My desktop computer sits upstairs in the loft area where I write. The poor machine is a dozen years old, and we all know that in “technology years,” it has outlived itself at least three times over at this point. Its operating system can no longer be updated. It loads whatever it loads at a speed barely resembling motion. I don’t recall complaining to Suzanne much about the ancient machine. I bear the desktop no ill will, and I mostly make it work.
But apparently, when the computer hadn’t followed my orders lately, I began to drop a fairly innocent swear word. Or two. A tiny “hell” or “damn,” spoken in almost a whisper from the loft. The words must have floated down the stairway, where they curled into the living room— where they flew right into Suzanne’s ear while she tried to think of presents to get me for our 6th Anniversary and Christmas. She took hints I didn’t even know I was giving. Of course, she has known me since 1984, so she can read me beyond my words. And so Suzanne gifted me a new iMac, to cover both our 6th Anniversary and X-mas. She says she’s pretty sure iron (traditional 6th Anniversary gift) is used somewhere in the machine’s construction, and I am happy to believe her.
Gee, I hope I can determine which computer keyboard is the new one and which is the old one. I know: I’ll follow the Yellow Key Grime.
A few days before Christmas, we celebrated our 6th Anniversary (legal). After a bazillion years of being together, we got hitched in 2013 the minute we could. It was in between court decisions. No time to plan. No time to have a party. It was a kind of shotgun wedding, between court decisions. We were just glad to git ‘er done successfully.
This year we celebrated the occasion with dinner at The Roof, overlooking the Salt Lake Temple and the Christmas lights at Temple Square. Bow Tie o’ the Evening was formal and X-mas ornament-y. We had a dazzling view. We got THE best table. Our waiter was kind enough to snap our picture with the bright view in the background. He seems to have used a photography technique which I can only describe as the make-the-people-in-the-photo-appear-blobbed-up-like-fat-squatty-toads technique.
You know I’m into giving anniversary gifts based on the “traditional” type of gift which corresponds to the number of years. For example, wood is the traditional anniversary gift for the 5th anniversary. Last year, I scored bigly points with Suzanne by managing to procure her some wood crochet hooks.
The traditional 6th anniversary gift is something iron or candy, and I had a heckuva time coming up with something clever. I did manage to find earrings made of iron, as well as an iron necklace for Suzanne, cuz she’s always ready for jewelry. But I wanted to give her something more. And then I remembered something I saw as a kid in what I now call “old lady houses” or “Arsenic and Old Lace houses:” a vintage, purple slag glass, IRON-shaped CANDY dish filled with Hershey’s Hugs and Kisses. A two-fer. Score! Suzanne loves it. She was born with “old lady house” knick-knack likes.
The first purple slag glass, iron-shaped candy dish I was able to locate online was $29,000. That’s not the one I got for Suzanne. It doesn’t cost $29,000 to be clever with a traditional anniversary gift. I’ll hip you to what Suzanne gifted me for our anniversary, in the next post.
Today, I’ve been rounding up the holiday neckwear to store until next year’s Christmas season. The ties and bow ties are now hibernating peacefully in their storage bins, out in the garage. As I’ve mentioned previously, there is no more room in the Tie Room to hold my holiday neckwear year-round. I think of the seasonal neckwear in the garage as living in an elite, festive, planned retirement community. I prefer that to thinking of them as shunned and cast out from the Tie Room. I do check on them every couple of months during their hibernation period. It’s a habit I have.
During the storing o’ the merry neckwear this afternoon, I did find a casualty. It’s my Make Your Own Ugly Christmas Tie o’ the Day pal. A few years ago, I glued X-mas objects to it all by myself, as anyone can see. I even glued google eyes to Tie’s “knot, ” so it could have a face. I don’t know where they googled to. I found and saved two pom-pom balls that fell off at a Christmas party last year. Tie is missing other stuff, as well. It is kind of funny to see the glue spots left behind after objects have made their escape. But Tie expired from natural causes today, after I made the decision it was time to cease all resuscitation efforts. It is now whole, I am sure, in the Great Tie Heaven Beyond.
Note that I had a Ties.com box, which was totally appropriate and tie-sized— to lay to rest my home-made Tie o’ the Day.
We haven’t put together a puzzle in years, but for some unknown reason I got the puzzle bee in my bonnet about 3 weeks ago. Since then, we have assembled 6. We aren’t tired of puzzling thus far.
This was one of those mystery puzzles where you read a fictional story of an unsolved murder, then you put the puzzle together— without knowing what the assembled picture is supposed to look like. The completed puzzle picture contains clues which aid you in your search for the fictional murderer.
Imagine my surprise when an untied Tie o’ the Day came together in the lower left corner of the puzzle. It’s even adorned with a diamond tie pin. It was kismet!
And just for your information, Tie o’ the Day was not the culprit.
In 2007, Dad died during the Christmas season. The holidays were extra tough for Mom that year. If you knew Mom and Dad together, you know Dad was always playing jokes on her— always trying to get a rise out of her. She was wise to most of his shenanigans, but they had fun. That year, I wanted to come up with some holiday experience for Mom which was a little Dad-like in its surprise and levity.
It was New Year’s Eve, and Mom was sacked out for the night on our couch at my house in Delta. Mom’s house was uninhabited. I gathered a few props. Quietly, Suzanne and Rowan and I scampered across the yard and snuck in to Mom’s house.
If you were ever in Mom’s living room, you know she had a menagerie of decorative animals and porcelain dolls. She had created the dolls herself.
Anyhoo… With the props I had gathered, we arranged a New Year’s Eve party for Mom’s animals and dolls. Mom would come home in the morning to find what her naughty menagerie had been up to while ringing in the New Year without her.
Our efforts to jolly-up Mom were a success. Dad would’ve been proud. She loved the mess she discovered when she opened her front door. She didn’t want me cleaning up the raucous remains immediately. She wanted people to see it and laugh about it with her, so her living room stayed blitzed for all of New Year’s Day. She cleaned it up herself the next day, before I could get over to her house.
Mom showed up at my front door with a grocery bag full of “bad” party props. A couple of weeks later, she showed up with 1 single cigarette which had somehow been overlooked when she cleaned up the first time. It had apparently been stuck behind one of her doll’s ears in its wig.
Suzanne and Rowan and I are in agreement: BEST. NEW. YEAR’S. EVE. EVER!
I chose a “wrapped gifts” theme Bow Tie o’ the Day to wear on Christmas Day. We didn’t do much but puzzle on Christmas Day, with the exception of joining Suzanne’s family at her parents’ house. Every year, Suzanne’s dad reads the family a Christmas story of his choosing, and tops it off by reading about Christ’s birth from the Bible. I look forward to it. Suzanne’s family is bigly and semi-boisterous and fun. I do miss being around Mom at Christmas though. (And not just for her food.) She tells me over and over she’s grateful to Suzanne’s parents for taking such good care of me. I’m grateful for it too. Now, that’s a gift!
Rowan wore his new haircut over to our place after we were finished at Suzanne’s parents. Skitter loves him, although Rowan’s male voice used to petrify her. You know Skitter loves you when she positions herself near you, then pretends to stretch and— nonchalantly and by calculated accident— puts her front paws on your arm or leg, as she’s doing with Rowan in the photo. She ever so softly and discreetly paws her way into your heart. But don’t look directly into her eyes, or she’ll shake her way to one of her crates. The Skit says, “It’s so hard to be loved.”
As was requested after this morning’s post, I’ve included here three pix of Rowan’s BEFORE hairs. His hair is thick and beauteous, so I don’t have a preference about its length. I am liking his short cut now, cuz it’s what he’s got. If it’s clean and not covering his handsome mug, I’m good with whatever.
We had a post-Christmas breakfast with Rowan at Vertical Diner, a vegan diner around the corner from his apartment in SLC. I wore my “ugly sweater” Bow Tie o’ the Day for the occasion. We see Rowan rarely since he slaves away many hours at his barista job and is student-ing at the U of U. He is 22, so his social life is a top priority, as well— as it should be. I think I’d be a bit worried about him if he spent all his spare time with us.
Note that Rowan cut off his flowing locks of head hairs last week. He’s donating the leftover 14-inch braids to an organization that makes wigs for chemo patients. Rowan’s heart has always been in the fight for those who struggle.
