Witty & Wise Ties, Trivia & Lies
8 festive Ties o’ the Day are here to add to the unbelievable sum of holiday ties I will have worn by New Year’s Day. Unfortunately, since my plastic Santa beard does not cover my mouth or nose, it does not qualify as a true pandemic holiday mask. Thus, I cannot add it to my meager Holiday Face Mask Tally.
Holiday Tie Tally: 142 Neckties. 64 Bow Ties.
#wearthedangmask #wearitwithasmilebehindit
I will always honor the bright strain of redneck that runs deep in my soul. I nurture that part of me. Have I put a tattered couch out on my front porch? Yes, more than once. Have I had an old mattress on my front porch? Yup, also more than once. The neighborhood dogs, cats, goats, and roosters love to jump and nap on my beat-up furniture. The way I see it, animals have a right to have “patio” furniture too—at least until you decide it’s time to load the old furniture bones off the porch and into the rusty truck bed, to drive it to the dump for a fond farewell. That makes perfect sense to me. Trust me—between all the folks and animals hanging around my place, I have always gotten more than my money’s worth out of the furniture I’ve owned. That’s part of the redneck home furnishing ethic.
Someone I met at a fancy party in Baltimore in the early-90’s once said to me, condescendingly, “For being a redneck from nowhere, you seem amazingly well educated.” I wanted to say in return, “For being an Ivy League-educated snooty boy, you sure seem like more of a stereotypical redneck than most rednecks I know.” But I didn’t say that to him. You see, I was raised to be a polite redneck who loves her neighbor instead of judging them by what they put on their porch, or by the population of their hometown. “Gee, thanks,” is all I said to the patronizing gentleman before I moved on to more interesting partygoers with open minds.
Sometimes now, I wish I could remember that guy’s name so I could contact him. I want to inform him—politely—that not only did I come from that “redneck nowhere” called Delta, UT, but Chrissy Teigen was born there too. He most certainly wouldn’t remember me by now, but he’d be impressed with the rednecks o’ Delta, if he knew Chrissy Teigen was born one there. I know I’m more impressed.
Holiday Tie Tally: 134 Neckties. 64 Bow Ties.
#wearthedangmaskbutpullitupbeforeyouspityourchew #realredneckswearthedangmasks
In the 70’s, we playfully—and trendily—called each other “turkey.” If you called someone a “jive turkey,” that meant you were calling them on their bullsh#%. My new, lighted turkey hat has made me hark back fondly to my kidhood’s carefree “turkey” days. And it also reminds me I need to start planning the menu for the upcoming pandemic Christmas feast for me and Suzanne. How can I top Thanksgiving’s spread? I shall make it my mission to find a way.
I should probably mention that I like hats, in case you couldn’t tell. Wearing the perfect hat is an important part of starring in the circus we call life. As much as I don’t want to admit it, ties cannot carry the entire burden of making a person be their self-est self. (Don’t quote me on that if you ever visit the occupants of my Tie Room.) Hats help the hip be cool, and they help the un-hip remain disguised.
I am wearing a trifecta o’ Bow Ties o’ the Day this morning. One is red-white-and-green plaid. One is black-red-and-gray plaid, dotted with white snowflakes. The third is row upon row of ribbon-topped red-blue-and-green wrapped Christmas presents.
Shop on, folks!
Holiday Tie Tally: 134 Neckties. 59 Bow Ties.
Skitter’s Holiday Tie Tally: 16 Neckties.
#wearthedangmask #actlikeyougiveadarn #lighttheneighborhood
I mix-matched my old-timey striped swimming suits for this post photo, to add more red-and-green Christmas effect. It was kinda cold in the house though, so I added my Halloween stockings—for equal parts warmth and garish clash. Note that I make the obligatory dive pose in one of the pix. It’s required to do that if you are wearing a swimming suit in a dry-land snapshot. My five Ties o’ the Day and the one Bow Tie o’ the Day have a bubbly drinking theme. Even Face Mask o’ the Day has a sandy Santa ready to imbibe some boat drinks while going over his list. Two of the ties are almost alike, but I can still count them both in my tie tally because one has a blinking red nose. Thus, they are lightyears (pun intended) different.
People, my swimming suit and I are in dire need of a beach right now! Every time I drag it out, I secretly hope someone will take pity on me and buy me a ticket to warm sand and surf.
Holiday Tie Tally: 134 Neckties. 56 Bow Ties.
Holiday Face Mask Tally: 8.
Y’all probably know I’ve only ever owned one purse, and I didn’t own it until two years ago when I found the Saddle Purse calling to me from a shelf in an airport shop. I rarely use it—except when we go out on the town, and we haven’t really done that since the pandemic started almost a year ago. I guess I should have known the Saddle Purse would start to feel neglected.
It usually sits in the loft underneath my writing desk, but this morning it greeted me from our dining table downstairs. I approached it slowly, since it doesn’t usually travel throughout the house by itself. I noticed a Hanukkah Bow Tie o’ the Day atop it. I noticed the neckband of a brass band Bow Tie o’ the Day dribbling out from inside. I felt comfortable enough to open the Saddle Purse, and —SURPRISE!—out popped ten more Bow Ties o’ the Day. I felt kinda bad to think the Saddle Purse felt like it had to fill itself with neckwear in order to get my attention. But I guess it did. I’ll do better about paying attention to ALL of my stewardships.
And there’s more! When I opened up the Saddle Purse’s teeny saddlebag, I discovered my purse knows me so well. To feel useful, a saddlebag needs to hold something. Nestled in the saddlebag was a pepperminty Bow Tie o’ the Day lapel pin.
Holiday Tie Tally: 129 Neckties. 55 Bow Ties. And a lapel pin on a pear tree—er, in a saddlebag.
As you can probably imagine, whatever home I have lived in has automatically become its own skiwampus universe. Normal occurrences rarely happen within my four walls. I am the twist, the tilt, the skew. Where I go, things are not-quite-normal. I can’t fully explain the reason this happens, but as the cliche says, “It is what it is.” Or, as Popeye says, “I am what I am.” You might have The Elf on the Shelf in your house, for example, but in this house, we have the The Elf on a Bow Tie. Today, we have The Elf on a Bow Tie in a Toaster. It has watched me all day, and I have tried to behave as nicely as I possibly can. I’ve been hankering for some cinnamon toast, however, and I don’t dare ask The Elf on a Bow Tie in a Toaster to find a new vantage point from which to spy on my naughty/nice behavior. I hope it moves soon. I guess I’ll make cinnamon toast tomorrow.
Holiday Tie Tally: 129 Neckties. 43 Bow Ties.
I’ve been teaching Hanukkah Bow Ties o’ the Day the proper Hanukkah greetings. “Hanukkah sameach!” means Happy Hanukkah! Personally, I am fond of the greeting, “Chag urim sameach!” which means Happy Festival of Lights! Hanukkah does not end until December 18th this year, so I’m sure I’ll mention a thing or two about it this week. 🕎🔯
Holiday Tie Tally: 129 Neckties. 42 Bow Ties.
Rudolph Tie and Bow Tie o’ the Day are pleased to present the body thong an anonymous gift-giver sent me last year. Y’all are so good to me, and you know me so well. I’ve got to go to the deli this morning, and I’m so hoping I forget to take off the red-nosed thong before I go. It would be wrong of me to wear it to the grocery store intentionally. That’s over-the-top. But to “accidentally” give my fellow shoppers a show…that’s not inappropriate at all. I am free entertainment at Dick’s Market. Suzanne says I should sell tickets. 🤡 🎡 🎄 🦌
Holiday Tie Tally: 129 Neckties. 40 Bow Ties.
I rarely heard my dad use profanity around the family. The swear-y word I recall hearing him say on occasion was “balls.” It always made me laugh. I’ve never heard anyone else use it as a “swear.” These 9 Ties and 4 Bow Ties o’ the Day are for Dad. I’m missing him extra bunches today for some reason, and so I’m wearing my striped overalls—as was daily his custom.
There is a Christmas story that lives in my family lore, which I have heard many times, from many of the actual participants. I have never heard the story told the same way twice, by anyone who was present when it came to pass. I had not yet been born when the event occurred, so I am only figuring as to the “truth” of what happened. I have listened to all the versions of the story, and this is what I have settled on. The gist is true. Some details may or may not be. But this is how the story sits in my as-told-to mind.
Mom wanted a flocked Christmas tree one year, probably sometime in the late-50’s. Dad invoked his belief in the principle of “happy wife, happy life”—and swiftly brought home, not just a Christmas tree, but some flock-goo and a hand-pump flocking gadget. With the bare tree on the sidewalk, just off the front porch, Dad began to spray flock onto its branches.
Mom watched. The kids watched. I’m sure Lyman’s peered out their windows from across the street to watch. Let me just say this: This was back before any real tree-flocking technology had been perfected to even the teensiest degree. The gooey flock kept getting gummed up in the pump. As Dad pumped the gadget, the flocking spit at the tree in streaks and glops and splotches. This was not the pretty tree Mom or Dad had envisioned.
Dad’s patience with the project was thinning. And even as Mom could see it unfolding, she was powerless to stop the inevitable. The frigid air on the entire street was getting prickly, as Dad became—how shall I say it—”vocal” about the clogged flocking gadget. At some point, Momo even emerged from her house next door to ours, to investigate the ensuing holiday hullabaloo in our front yard. As the anticipating crowd grew, so did Dad’s irritability. Dad said some bigly bad words as he tried to complete his flocking mission. I am fairly certain, based on the many retellings of the story, the bigly bad f-word finally flew out of Dad’s mouth at some point. And I don’t mean the word “flock.” I heard that Momo scurried back to her house to find Popo. Mom made sure my siblings made a bee-line into our house.
I am sure Mom and Dad had a brief, tense two-person family meeting out there in the cold, after which Dad likely went coyote hunting for a couple of hours to re-set his blood pressure, and to think of how to make proper apologies to his mother—and to mine.
How did this story end? I have heard that my dad finally managed to passably complete the flocking o’ the tree, and all was made right with the world. (I highly doubt that version.) I have also heard that my parents used the tree in its as-was imperfection. (I don’t think that is believable either.) In the most Ron-and-Helen-Wright-esque version of the story I can imagine, after Dad took off in his truck, Mom dragged the half-flocked pine behind the house and set it on fire—and later, Dad showed up with a freshly cut, naked, better-than-the-first-one X-mas tree. Now, that’s the kind of home I was born into, give or take a fact or two—and I’m proud of it.
Holiday Tie Tally: 128 Neckties. 39 Bow Ties.
I’m sure Skitter has learned it from me. She likes to mix her holidays into a Mulligan Stew of celebration. Here she is, wearing her McDonald’s French fries Halloween costume and a Christmas tree Tie o’ the Day. You might have noticed that many of Skitter’s X-mas ties have been made with their print patterns upside down. I suppose that is the reason I was able to procure her a bulk batch of thirty or so doggie neckties for the enormous cost of $9.95 on amazon.
In the second photo, you can see Skitter later fell asleep on her bed on the couch last night, surrounded by two of her blankets and covered in 9 of my jolly Bow Ties o’ the Evening. I guess, sometimes bow ties feel warmer than fleece blankets. At least, according to Skitter.
Holiday Tie Tally: 119 Neckties. 35 Bow Ties.
Skitter’s Holiday Tie Tally: 15 Neckties.