Category: Bow Ties

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Multiply, Replenish, And Magnify

I’m wiped-out from yesterday’s day trip to Delta. Clearly, my stamina’s improving but it still sucks. It’s only driving, you know. Before she left for work, Suzanne gave me strict instructions to do absolutely nothing that requires movement today, so Bow Tie o’ the Day and I are camped with Skitter on the recliner, where I’m reading in my new blinged-out reading glasses.

I finally broke down and admitted to myself that my old pair of reading glasses wasn’t cutting the reading mustard. Off I went to Walmart to search for a stronger prescription. I discovered that when it comes to reading words on a page, I am almost completely blind. For a few years, I used a magnifying glass when reading, but holding it got in the way of me using the remote. Can’t have that. That’s when I got my first readers.

I wore bifocals for a time, but they made me dizzy and gave me headaches. It’s worth it to me to switch glasses depending on what I’m doing. It’s a pain in the butt, but it’s better than wearing one pair of glasses that makes you want to carry around a barf bag.

What I learned as a kid from watching my parents use reading glasses is that reading glasses are like the scissors and the scotch tape. You can never find them when you need them. It’s as if those three objects conspire to play hide-and-seek without letting you in on the game.

To counter this where-did-I-put-that? phenomenon, there is only one solution: Buy more than one of each. Hell, buy a case of each. Scatter them through the house. You’ll still never find them when you need them, but at least you’ll have a better chance.

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Nuts For Bolts

I’m sporting a super-slim Bow Tie o’ the Day this afternoon. Bow Tie and I have got our eyes on Suzanne’s productivity. Here, she’s ironing some material from her Leaning Tower o’ Fabric. She’s prepping to do her first Ultimate SewingBox project. And guess what? For her maiden project, she’s making something for little ol’ me. She’s making me a cape. Finally. I’ve wanted her to make me one for years. I’ve wanted her to make it to help me become The Caped Tie-sader. I think buying her The Ultimate SewingBox guilted her into finally becoming my cape factory.

Sure enough, she found a cape pattern at JOANN’s in St. George. She’s experimenting with it today, so she’s using some useless, old, crusty fabric to make the prototype. We’ve gotta see what design will work, according to my capey desires. Suzanne has to design it perfectly before we spend a small fortune on my chosen cape fabrics. You know I will want more than one cape, if I find this one to my liking.

When I refer to the test cape being made of “useless” fabric, I am saying that any normal person would see that the fabric is “useless.” A normal person would have scrapped these scraps long ago. Suzanne, however, is not normal. There is no piece of fabric on this planet that is “useless” to her.

Oh, I know Suzanne is not the only one. A lot of y’all giggle in anticipation of a trip to a fabric store. Suzanne and some of y’all salivate at the sight of fresh bolts of material being put on the racks at MOM’S CRAFTS. But really, if a scraggly piece of nearly disintegrating material has lived a good, long life in the bottom of a musty drawer that hasn’t been opened in three decades, put it out of its misery. Or make me a cape with it.

[The next time you see me and a tie here, I am confident we will be wearing a cape designed and handmade by Suzanne, The Patient Seamstress and her Ultimate SewingBox.]

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So That Is How My First Name Got Real

Double-wood Bow Tie o’ the Day says I should explain to my Delta friends how my first name and my middle name seemingly switched at some point in my life. My full, legal name is Helen Eileen Wright, and until I graduated from DHS and left Delta, I went by the name, Eileen. I don’t know why, but that’s what everyone had always called me.

When I had to begin filling out all the paperwork that comes with being an adult– like college applications, job applications, rental applications, my passport application, etc.– it was so complicated to keep using my middle name as my first name, because my Social Security card had my “real” name on it. So I became Helen. I also have been referred to as Helen, Jr., Li’l Hel, H. E., Helen E., and prob other variations I can’t recall right now. I’ve been known as Helen for almost twice as long as I was Eileen, so it’s almost impossible for me to think of me as anything but Helen, although I’m just fine with either name you’re comfortable using for me.

When the switch happened, I found that I liked the name Helen better than Eileen. Nobody ever got the spelling right on Eileen. Helen was more me-ish. And what I liked most about making the change was that there aren’t many women who have their mothers’ names. I do, and I have always looked up to Mom, so her name was something I’ve strived to honor. It’s inspired me to be more like her. Wearing her name has definitely made me a better woman than I would have been otherwise.

What this whole name thing means is that I’ve had a childhood name and an adult name. Depending on what name you use to address me, I know– and everybody else knows– when you first knew me.

When my parents were trying to come up with a name for me, they were stumped. I was almost named Melanie. And then I was almost named Rhonda– so they could have yet another “Ron”  in the family. They settled on the name of one of Mom’s nurses, who was such a key part of Mom recovering from my birth, Eileen Boothe. Mom had nearly died giving birth to me. Dr. Bird had to give her a half-dozen blood transfusions, and he told her, “No more babies, Helen.” (And then Dad had a little operation. 😉)

Anyhoo… Dad was giving me my baby blessing, and when he got to my name, he named me after Mom. She was surprised. They had never talked about doing that. He told Mom she’d had a difficult enough time having me that I should have her name. I’m grateful he did that. I try to honor it, knowing I will forever fall short. But I try.

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Small Place, Bigly Love

VW Bow Tie o’ Yesterday drove with us as we hauled Mom and her memories from back to Delta from St. George. Mom never turned away from her window during the entire drive. She loves the landscapes of Utah, and she had to point out every beautiful natural thing she saw– including a few deer. She told us stories about who she was with and what they did when she had visited some of those locales in her younger life.

Years ago, one of Mom’s sisters who lives “up North,” asked her how she could stand to live out in the middle of nowhere, where the wind blew all the time. Mom said something along the lines of “It’s beautiful. Why would you not want to live here? I’d never live anywhere else. And you have all that traffic up North. Why would you want to live up there?” Mom finds joy in every Delta dusty wind that messes up her just-done hair.

For those of you who don’t know anything about the Care Center in Delta, let me give you some insight about Delta that will help you understand why it’s the perfect place for Mom to live.

When I lived in Virginia and Maryland, when my “back East” friends would ask about where I grew up, I came up with the perfect way to describe how small Delta is. I told them that Delta is so small that when you’re born, you’re automatically related to half the population– and then when you get married, you’re suddenly related to the other half.

What does this description have to do with the Delta Care Center? Aside from the fact that the facility– and the care the staff provides– is outstanding, everybody knows everybody. It’s like home in that way. Mom already knows 99 percent of the residents of the Care Center, and they know her. They have been part of her life for all of her life. Likewise, Mom also knows the people who will be caring for her. They love her and Mom loves them. Trust me, she will be spoiled during her stay.

At the Care Center, every day is almost like a family reunion. In fact, when we walked Mom into the facility yesterday, she didn’t even get to her room for over an hour. Half-way to see her room for the first time, she saw someone she just had to catch-up with about all the Delta gossip. Mom immediately sat down by her. Soon someone put a plate of food in front of Mom, which she immediately ate– to give her energy to keep talking to her life-long friends, I’m sure.

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Mom Has A Dozen Pairs O’ Half-broken Reading Glasses

Bow Tie o’ the Day has been kickin’ it around the couch with Mom today, although we lost Mom for a few minutes.

This is our first Mom-sitting visit at Ron’s and Marie’s new abode, and I didn’t know if Mom had changed up her routine since their recent move. While they’re away, Ron gave me two jobs: don’t break Mom, and don’t lose Mom. (These are the same two jobs I give him when he’s got her.) This afternoon, when Mom told me she was going outside for a walk to loosen up her hip, I just assumed it was part of her new routine in her new place. Mom has never had a wandering-off problem, so out the door I let her go ahead of me while I went into the kitchen to find the mailbox key. With mailbox key in hand, Skitter and I went out the front door to join Mom on her walk, and to pick up the mail while we were at it.

Lo, and behold!

Where’s Mom? We looked left. We looked right. We looked hither and yon. We looked around this corner, and that corner. We looked under cars and in bushes and in swimming pools. No Mom. No Mom’s walker. She left no bread crumbs for us to follow. She left no half-empty Pepsi cans for us to follow. She didn’t peel off her clothes and leave us a wardrobe trail. I put Skitter onto her scent, but Skitter smelled nary a sign of Mom. I was truly afeared.

I retrieved my phone from the house and headed back outside and up the sidewalk. I was just about to do a bit of 911 dialing, and Mom and her walker showed up on the horizon. She was, in fact, fine. She was, in fact, going through her new usual routine. Apparently, there’s a bench a ways up the street where she sits to rest her walker and her behind during her daily strolls. Unfortunately, the bench is not visible from the sidewalk. Now I know.

Anyhoo… All is well. Mom is safe. I am not inept. Skitter had a St. George walk. And to top it off,  it was CHRONICLE-PROGRESS day! That mailbox key made Mom’s day. She loves her CHRONICLE.

Listen to me when I tell you that Mom doesn’t share her CHRONICLE with anyone on Wednesday’s after it arrives. If she dozes on the couch and you try to sneak her CHRONICLE off her lap, she snaps awake and clutches that newspaper like you’re trying to steal a grandchild. If you try to touch Mom’s CHRONICLE the day it shows up in Mom’s mailbox, you will not lose just a couple of fingers. You will not lose just a hand. You will lose at least an arm and a shoulder and your spleen. And while you’re writhing in pain and spurting blood on the floor, Mom will simply open up her CHRONICLE and read the obituaries to see if she’s in them yet.

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Guess Who’s In St. George Again?

Black-and-white Bow Tie o’ the Day paired up with my black-and-white Hawaiian shirt to go for an hours-long drive on these black-and-white seat covers in Suzanne’s car. We headed out to St. George to hang with Mom for a few days. She’s babysitting us and Skitter. Every now and then, Suzanne and Skitter and I need Mom to get us back in line.

When we arrived, Mom had us laughing within two minutes, and we haven’t stopped yet– even while Mom was eating her KFC chicken. It’s her Tuesday lunch. And I mean EVERY Tuesday she eats KFC chicken. Don’t forget the cole slaw, or she’ll send you back to get some. And get the largest size they sell. Mom’s got a thing for cole slaw.

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Not Just Another Day

Today is THE day in my recovery from surgery that Bow Tie o’ the Day and I have most anticipated. This is the day I will once again lift and carry my ever-present Mini Keg. It can hold 100 ounces of whatever liquid I wish to be guzzling all day long. I’m definitely a Diet Coke gal, so Diet Coke will fill it to the brim. When full, Mini Keg weighs a whopping 5.4 pounds. I consider carrying it around to be my daily exercise. I guess I lift free weights. Okay, I lift one free weight– sloshy rep after rep after rep.

I know I have to be careful. I’m not going to push it. If I have to set down Mini Keg occasionally throughout my waking hours, I will give in and do that. I won’t want to, but I will do it– for the greater good o’ my health and welfare.

When I say Mini Keg is ever-present in my life, I mean it. It is my faithful companion. When I’m in bed, Mini Keg is on my nightstand. It rides with me when I drive. It grocery shops with me, while it sits in the top rack of the shopping cart. We are very close. I can tell Mini Keg anything, and I know my secrets won’t go anywhere else. Mini Keg is my sippy cup.

Why must I have Mini Keg with me at all times? For one thing, it’s a kind of bodyguard. If somebody tried to mug me, I’d simply hurl Mini Keg at them. That’ll knock ’em out! Or I could beat the hell out of the thug with my heavy drinking buddy. Mini Keg is my concealed-in-plain-sight weapon. No carry permit required.

Another reason I insist on carrying my liquids with me 24/7 is that my crazy-head meds make my mouth oh-so dry. I kid you not: If I can’t drink between sentences, I don’t speak in recognizable sounds. I might as well be having a conversation with you with a pint of peanut butter in my mouth. It’s not pretty. And my words are indecipherable, even to me. I must drink to be understood.

I’m sure I have a thousand other reasons, or justifications for carrying my drink baby. But the main reason I feel like a part of me has been amputated when I don’t have Mini Keg is that Diet Coke is my Mistress o’ Caffeine. Plus, it is tasty. I must know I have enough with me at all times, whether I drink the entire 100 ounces per day or not. To feel secure– and that I’ll be able to speak clearly– I must know it’s there.

BTW   Orange and black Bow Tie o’ the Day is here to signal it’s October, and therefore time for Halloween ties and colors. 👻

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My Message Is True

I’ve been a missionary for all things tie for most of my decades, and one of the tie myths I most have to dispel is the idea that the tie way of life is reserved for the male of the species only. Not true, my friends. Bow Tie o’ the Day is further proof that ties of any kind are good for each human being who walks the planet. Train up a child in the Bow Tie way they should go: and when they are old, they will not depart from Bow Ties. Or any other type of tie. 😁

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Hold Up A Minute!

It ain’t quite October yet, but I suppose it might be October in dog years. For some reason, Skitter thinks she can try on Halloween costumes already, even though the rule of the house is– and always has been– no Halloween preparation or talk is allowed until October 1st. Skitter’s working on her jester costume, I guess. Green and purple are a snappy clothing color duo. And a collar is a kind of neckwear too.

Bow Tie o’ the Day is one of my more exotic specimens. Its style is called a diamond point, and Bow Tie is made of cork. Maybe I’ll add some pizzazz to it by pinning small trinkets and notes on it. I mean– if you can pin a shopping list or a love note on a cork board, why not on a cork bow tie?

 

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The Smart, The Stupid, And The Personal Responsibility

 

You may have noticed I didn’t write a post this morning. A funny thing happened on my way to the website. I decided to more closely examine The Ultimate SewingBox before I sat down at the laptop. There I stood, right in front of that massive piece of furniture, rapt with wonder. Apparently, Suzanne didn’t see me there when she folded the box closed around me before she went off to work. It is so cavernous that I didn’t even see her closing it on me. Suzanne left. And I got lost in The Ultimate SewingBox’s maze-like insides as I tried to escape its architecture. Only when I got Skitter’s attention by barking to her that I needed help– only then was I rescued, when Skitter clawed open The Ultimate SewingBox to its full expanse.

Being in The Ultimate SewingBox was the opposite of my experience of being folded up in the hide-a-bed in our living room when I was a kid. At least The Ultimate SewingBox didn’t make me claustrophobic. BTW Have I mentioned that The Ultimate SewingBox is bigly? Don’t worry. I’m sure I will repeat that fact on occasion. On many occasions.

Floppy Bow Tie o’ the Day looks relaxed, eh? Cufflinks o’ the Day are symbolic of the fact that I once again ate ice cream for breakfast. To be precise: I ate three scoops of Red Button Raspberry Cheesecake ice cream. I ate the same thing for lunch. Why? Because I can. I am the boss o’ me. The perks of being the boss of your adult self include being able to eat ice cream whenever you feel like it. You don’t need permission. All you need is to make sure you have ice cream in the freezer. Being an adult does not have to suck. Being an adult can be full of sweets.

The downside of being the boss of yourself is that you are responsible for every move you make. Choose the wrong person to marry? Your fault. Get in a drunken bar fight? Your fault. Get a ticket for driving 85 mph in a 50 mph zone? Your fault. Go broke buying too many bow ties? Your fault. You get the idea.

You have the power to fill your adult life with a long list of perks, though. There is a do-over for most of our screw-ups. We can convert our mistakes into perks. We must learn the lesson each bad move taught us. We must work to earn forgiveness. When we get our do-overs right,– when we’ve made the better choices–  every consequence that follows just might be a perk.

So be on the lookout for bad moves dressed up in perk’s clothing. Eating that ice cream can transform from perk to bad move when it shows up on your belly. You get a do-over on the fun stuff like that too. You must learn to be wise and use moderation. You can still eat ice cream for breakfast and lunch. It can still be a perk of adulthood, if you’ll take your fat gut out for a walk– anytime and anywhere you want– until your tummy gets back into shape. Walks are perks too, right? What negative consequence ever came from going for a walk? Exactly none. Ice cream + walks = a win-win. Heck, eat a Creamsicle on your walk. Balance always leads to perks.

You might as well take responsibility for your life. With some exceptions, you make your life what it is. You make you who you are. Yes, you really are mostly your own fault. 😁 😉🙃🤡