Bow Tie o’ the Day is providing Mom with some early Mother’s Day flowers. We’re starting to honor the Queen Bee Mother a couple of days early, just because we want to.
I’m guessing this portrait of Mom was taken around 45 years ago, in the early 70’s. Her hair has the “height” she always said she needed it to have. She probably wants extremely high hair now that she’s shrinking. I don’t care how much she shrinks, she’s still the Big Helen. At 88, she’s still larger than life.
I’ve spent my conscious life hearing, from those in and out of the family, about things they’ve witnessed Mom do. I’ve heard about food she made; jokes she played; quilts she made; what she said that left the crowd in laughter; opinions she expressed, whether anyone wanted to know what she thought or not; etc. She’s a wild woman with a wild heart. She’s generous and kind. Of course, if you know Mom, you already know that.
More than once in my life, friends– some of whom haven’t even met Mom in person– jealously commented to me about Mom. I’ve heard, “I wish my mother would send home-baked cookies across the country to me.” And I’ve heard, “I wish my mother talked to me like your mom talks to you.” One of my more envious friends even said about Mom, “I wish my mother loved me like your mother loves you.”
I feel sad some of my friends didn’t have what I’ve always had. I think everybody should be loved like Mom loves me.
Aside from collecting neckwear, I spend some of my time in search of relaxation for Suzanne’s aches and pains, as well as for my stoopid, bipolar head. I seek out off-the-wall relaxation opportunities, on my quest to find something effective. Suzanne and I do like a fine massage, but I’m also willing to try just about anything else that mellows us out– both body and psyche. Heck, I try weird stuff simply to have new experiences. You already probably know that about me. Having a fresh adventure is enough reason to dive into it.
Wood, magnet-clasp Bow Tie o’ a Month Ago went with us on one of our attempts at relaxation. For Valentine’s Day, I gave Suzanne (and myself) a session at The Salt Cave, which is one offering at Awaken Wellness– a New Age-y wellness center in South Ogden. A few weeks after V-Day, we finally found some time to put the event on our schedule.
I didn’t know anyone who had been to The Salt Cave, so we had no idea what to really expect– except salt. I don’t even remember how I discovered the place existed. I scored a Groupon coupon for the 45-minute session, so it wouldn’t bankrupt me all for nothing if it turned out to be a letdown. All we had to go on was the photo and info I found online.
The Salt Cave is not an actual cave, but it felt like one when we were in it. It was a room about the size of a small bedroom. What appears in the photograph to be sand covering the floor, is salt. The lighting was extremely low. The pyramid in the wall was constructed with bricks of salt, and it glowed like a low-ember fire.
We sat in zero-gravity chairs. Calming music played, which we were told was programmed with “corrective healing frequencies, binaural beats, and isochronic tones.” Whatever that means. I don’t know if the music “healed” me, but it did help me mellow out.
For the duration of the session, a medical device called a halogenerator dispersed salt into the air. We couldn’t see the salt, but we felt it in our noses. I can say it felt like my nasal passages were clearing themselves out. Salt air has long been thought to improve respiratory ailments, as well as other health issues. We left with a faint layer of salt on our clothes. You can sort of see it on my hat.
The Salt Cave wasn’t magic, but we enjoyed our time in it. We certainly got relaxed. We were kinda sad when the session was finished, and I think we’d go again. It doesn’t matter that the experience was not profound and life-altering. It was fun.
After our session was complete, I was parched for salt. I needed plain old Lay’s potato chips. I did not lick the salt pyramid which was built into the wall. But I thought about it.
Perhaps for Christmas, Suzanne will give me my own salt lick to install in The Tie Room. Better yet, I would like enough salt licks to install one on at least one wall in every room in the house. And in my truck. And in my car. I don’t think it’s asking too much to have a permanent salt lick with me when I travel.
With the help of Tie o’ the Day, the bigly clash fashion is on. This unmatched match o’ dots was a go-together must. As I’ve mentioned before, I don’t usually “choose” my get-up: I grab the first shirt I find in the closet, and I take the first bow tie my eyes see from whichever bow tie drawer I open. Or I blindly nab a necktie from the closet, where they all hang in hibernation. Sometimes, on a special occasion, I will plan an outfit on purpose. Of course, for church I tone my outfits down a bit. Okay, I tone them down a lot. It is a humongous effort to lower the volume of my attire.
But when it comes to “doing” my hair, I don’t. And I never have. It’s not just that I can’t do anything with my scraggly, overgrown hair. I can’t do nothin’ with my hairs no matter how brilliantly they are cut. My hairs are against me. They are thin and straight beyond measure. And I personally have no talent for creating any kind of hairdo. Doing hair is a craft, an art. I can appreciate visual art of all kinds. However, I cannot create anything resembling any kind of visual art. Wash-‘n’-go is how I roll. That’s why I need masterful haircuts.
BTW For my Mormon readers: I am curious about something, and so far no one has been able to answer my question. Please help me out if you know the answer. Can men wear a white bow tie with LDS Temple clothes, or is only a white necktie allowed?
Last night, Bow Tie o’ the Sleep and I slept dandily on the mustache pillowcase Suzanne made me. But I woke up with my head surrounded by scissors! 7 pairs of scissors! I believe the message Suzanne is sending here is this: HELEN EILEEN WRIGHT, CUT YOUR ATROCIOUS HAIRS ASAP!!! Even my hairs are hard for her to live with.
Bow Tie o’ the Day sits in the TMS reception area with me and my droopy eyelids. You know all those naps you wouldn’t take when you were a kid? I now regret not napping every chance I was told to. I think I wouldn’t have to take naps all the time now, if I had just closed my eyes as a kid. I do like my naps, but I have things to do. I don’t want to “have to” nap– as an adult.
I also wish I had eaten ALL the food off ALL the dinner plates that were put on ALL the kitchen tables in front of me when I was a kid. I gotta watch what I eat at this point in my life. As a child, I could have eaten anything and burned it off immediately, and my arteries were clear as could be. But no! Kids have to be stubborn. “Hey, parent! You want me to eat this yummy cheeseburger? Even though I want to eat it, I refuse to do so. For no good reason, except to get on your nerves, I refuse to eat.” I know I’m not the only one who did this. What were we thinking?
The TMS treatment most certainly jolts me awake. The woman behind me in the second photo is my TMS technician, Tenzin. She gets my electromagnetic coil started at the right intensity and for the correct amount of time, then she drinks her coffee and watches me go through my session. She’s like my own personal lifeguard. She makes sure I do not go into seizures during treatment. Zapping awake the brain’s mood area– good. Having seizures– bad. I don’t worry about it. Tenzin knows what she’s doing.
Tenzin is as chapped as I am that somebody rearranged the furniture in the TMS room without our approval. There used to be a chair just a few feet away from my feet, where I could put The Purse and keep my eye on it during my treatment. But early one morning, Tenzin and I walked into the room and the chair was gone! Also, these two recliners were moved to the far side of the room. The Purse now has to sit in a recliner so far away from me I can hardly see its saddle on the horizon. I need binoculars. Tenzin can no longer see it at all from her desk. I have to squint so hard to make The Purse come into focus from so far away that I think I might yet have a seizure from which Tenzin, my personal lifeguard, must rescue me.
Hey! This is the last mustache Bow Tie o’ the Day. It is made of painted wood. Its simplicity of design makes it a must-have piece of neckwear for my collection. I have a mustache-y necktie for tomorrow, and then that’s it for our Mustache Days theme.
Skitter doesn’t have a mustache bow tie, but she wore her little collar bow tie to see her doctor today. She needed two booster shots. Every time we walk into her vet’s office, Skitter shakes like she’s her own private earthquake. When her appointment is done and we’re safely home, she gets mad at me for hauling her to the vet. She pouts for the rest of the day– like I had set out to hurt her sensitive, canine feelings. Tomorrow, she will have forgotten all about the vet visit, and I will be tops on her list again. She’ll be all hyped-up to play with me while I’m trying to get some work done.
I, on the other hand, look forward to showing up for Skitter’s vet appointments. I hate that it makes Skitter shiver, but… When Skitter and I are waiting in the reception area or the exam room, she keeps her paw on my arm so she can be sure I don’t get up and leave her there by her skittish self. It’s so sweet when she traps me with her paw. In fact, it’s downright CUTE. And you know how I hate the word CUTE, cuz it’s overused! But The Skit’s trembling paw on my arm is truly one thing the word CUTE was intended to describe.
We celebrated Cinco de Mayo yesterday by participating in nothing resembling a Cinco de Mayo festivity. (You might remember Skitter had already cracked open her piñata a couple of weeks ago, cuz she couldn’t wait any longer.) Mustache Bow Tie o’ the Day helped us pack up the car for an afternoon excursion. We loaded up Diet Coke, water, and bug spray. And we loaded up Skitter. We did not load up The Saddle Purse. Off we drove to Antelope Island– which I always call Cantaloupe Island, convinced someone somewhere someday will think it’s funny.
We stopped at the beach as soon as we got on the island. The lake is so low that we had to walk at least 1/4 mile from the real beach to get to the water. It was the first time Skitter had walked on sand, and it was the first time she had seen a lake. She did well, despite her fear. She did not venture into the water. I think she actually had fun, even though she stuck to my legs the entire adventure.
Our beach-hangin’ did not last long at all. We were at war with the brine flies. We found ourselves in the midst of a near-Biblical true pestilence. We were outnumbered, and our bug spray was no match for the brine flies’ superior weapons of annoyance. They were ultimately the victors. Surrender can be a wise and glorious thing sometimes. When we got home I discovered brine fly bites across my forehead where my hatband had been, and poor Skitter had bites inside her ears.
We spent most of our Cantaloupe Island trip in the car, and we had a fine time. The afternoon was bright. The drive was pretty. We drove the island’s roads, checking out the bigly bison and a few antelope. I met a bison and a deer, and they each wanted a turn wearing Bow Tie o’ the Day. I obliged.
‘Stache wood Bow Tie o’ the Day is yet another handlebar mustache. The handlebar style tends to stand out bigly from other styles, and so it is often used to represent all mustaches. If you find a ‘stache  decorating a product– coffee cups, t-shirts, etc.– it is most likely going to be a handlebar. And if I could grow a mustache, it would absolutely be a handlebar.
From the moment I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder, it has never been difficult for me to say I’m bipolar. I do, however, have a heckuva difficult time saying I have a mental illness. For some reason, the term “mental illness” makes me uncomfortable. I’m not quite sure why, but I think it might have something to do with my idea of myself as an intelligent person.
To say there’s something “ill” about my “mental” self makes me worry that I’m not smart. The two I.Q. tests I’ve taken in my life say my intelligence is in “genius” territory. I dunno if I agree with that, but I have always prided myself on my ability to think well. I consider myself to be foremost a poet and an intellectual. It’s not boastful for me to say that: I simply know what my talents and strengths are. I don’t want to think I have an ill head.
I was prideful about my strengths and talents once, and it was a decade-long “once”: I thought my smart brain could out-think and defeat my mental illness. I thought my “genius” could save me. It didn’t, and it can’t.
Mustache Bow Tie o’ the Day presents another story of my overthinking.
Since my TMS treatments are weekdays at 7 AM, I make sure to be up by 5. When I was younger, rising at 5 AM was no problem. But now that I am near-ancient, it’s a tough task. It takes me over an hour to get enough Diet Coke in me to open my eyes wide enough to drive the car safely. (A shower would help me wake up, but I prefer to shower AFTER the TMS session.) I need to be up by 5 to make sure I’m ready to drive to SLC at 6:30. You might chuckle at that, but I swear it’s true.
Before I go to bed before a treatment morning, I grab the clothes I’m gonna wear the next day and throw them in a pile so I don’t have to do any thinking when I first get out of bed. I can find my pile o’ clothes in the dark, so I don’t have to wake Suzanne by turning on the light. Well, yesterday morning I got dressed and all the way downstairs to the kitchen before I realized my pants felt funny. Sure enough, I had pulled them on backwards. Maybe you’ll remember from a previous post that I have no butt. I don’t have to unzip/unbutton to get my pants on. I just slide them on– ready for a day of having to make sure my pants don’t fall down cuz I have no butt. That’s why it took me a few minutes to notice something was not right in the jeans department. I thought briefly of wearing them backwards as just another part of the day’s clash fashion statement. But they were actually quite uncomfortable so I shed them and then re-pulled them up the correct way.
Today is Saturday, so I have no TMS. Of course, I woke up promptly at 5AM, wide awake. It wasn’t difficult to get out of bed at all, since I had no reason to. I mark it down to a cruel joke from the sleep gods. In the dark, I pulled on a t-shirt. I knew from the first moment I put it on that it was backwards.
You know me. I am always on a quest for meaning. Just a few days ago, I posted about getting a sign from the heavens because the car next to mine in a parking lot at my TMS clinic was the same weird color as the shoes I was wearing. And now this! Putting at least one piece of clothing on backwards two days in a row is a bigly coincidence– especially when I haven’t accidentally put on something backwards since I was a wee leprechaun.
And so, of course, I got right to ponderin’ about what the possible meaning of the alignment of these two backward clothing stars could mean. Is the universe trying to tell me I need to start walking backwards cuz some sort of dangerous unicorn is following me and will do me harm if I don’t see it and slay it first? Is it trying to say my clothes are hideous and I should go shopping for a new wardrobe?Did the universe prank me by putting a silly coincidence in my face– knowing I’d waste hours searching for the meaning of life in a backwards pair of Levis and an equally backwards t-shirt. (The gods must have a good laugh on me constantly.)
Or is the universe trying to say a cosmic thing to me about how I need to reverse my life’s course? You know what I finally decided? The message is this: I must sleep in my next day’s clothes! Or just get dressed in another room, with lights a’blazing.
Bow Tie o’ the Day and I are preparing to iron our fancy shirts this morning, as is evidenced by the iron atop the ironing board beside me in this photo.
Although Bow Tie sports the same style of mustache as the bow tie I wore yesterday, the design is interestingly different. This is one humongous bow tie– taller and wider than the usual bow tie by more than an inch. Also, I think the detail of paired up, in-line bow ties on the bow tie itself is a fabulous touch.
Bow Tie was designed and created by a dude I found in Kearns whose hobby is making wood bow ties. He designed this one in honor of his elderly neighbor named MAX, who has worn a bow tie every day for decades. (Sound familiar?) Feeble Max has a collection of hundreds of bow ties, but his collection does not even come close to rivaling mine. I didn’t tell him that though. I thought it would be kind of me to let the dapper, ancient Max think he’s assembled the most populous bow tie collection on the continent. Kindness rules!
