Hieroglyphics Bow Tie o’ the Day happily goes along with whatever idea I come up with for a post photo. Bow Tie’s not even embarrassed to seen with me, much like Suzanne is not. Whatever they feel for me, it must be strong. To be honest, there are occasions when I’m doubtful I want to be seen with me.
In honor of Mom’s decades-long routine of getting her hair done on Thursdays, at least one TIE O’ THE DAY post each Thursday is going to show the results of my own “hair day” too– until I get rid of most of my hairs at the end of May. I’m handing over the Thursday hairdo responsibilities to Suzanne, but I wanted to give it a shot myself.
This is what I can offer you today. (You’ll see the results of this attempt tomorrow.) I have never once in my life put a curler in my hairs. (Surprise! Surprise!) Other people have rolled them on my head, but not I. I don’t even remember anybody putting my hairs in regular curlers, just permanent rollers. I remember they hurt when they were put in and also when they got pulled out.
Anyhoo… Because I’m a newbie at this curler biz, I don’t know if my curler-ed head is supposed to look like this or not. I’m thinking it’s not. And although I believe in the adage “practice makes perfect,” I kinda think no amount of practice is gonna help me get this right.
Part of being smart is knowing when to pass the torch, er, curler to someone else.
Look at what Art Deco-style Bow Tie o’ the Day and I found at Dick’s Market when we were crossing items off our grocery list this afternoon! It’s the 2019 pre-Spring season’s first bag of Whopper’s Mini Robin Eggs– to be selfishly hidden in my Tie Room goodie stash. That’s worth celebrating in and of itself. The annual appearance of these candy eggs is a hint that Spring is just a bunny-hop away, which means Summer’s on the not-too-far-out-there horizon.
We also got an added bonus when we were pleasantly shocked to spy a long shelf of a new snack product made and named just for us: Pasta Bow Ties. (Not bow tie pasta, which we already know all about.) How groovy is that? Pasta Bow Ties are described on the package as a “baked puffed snack.” Bow Tie and I threw a bag of each of the three flavors we could find into the shopping cart. I haven’t yet tasted the goodies, but I’ll give you my tastebuds’ verdict after I do. Out of Meatball Parm, Smooth Cheddar, and Honey Butter flavors, I am bound to find at least one flavor of baked, puffed pasta to my liking. We’ll see.
Oh, and I noticed a witty detail about the snack’s packaging: bow tie-shaped bar codes on each bag’s butt. The cleverness of that little bow tie bar code will make me smile for at least a week. Joy is in the details, folks. Your joy depends on your noticing the tiniest of wonderful things around you. Those zillions of tiny things will be there to save your sanity when the bigly things turn to shit.
Did I type that word out loud? Well, I must have meant it.
LOL Bow Tie o’ the Day and I soooo wish we had been there. Saturday evening, while I was still having Pajama Day, Suzanne drove to Ogden to attend a friend’s 60th birthday party. When she got there, as she stepped up from the road to the driveway, she tripped on the little half-inch-tall lip between the two. CRASH, went the bottle of wine she was carrying to the shindig. FLUMP went the gift bag she held. And Suzanne caught her fall with her face. Her coat got soaked with the wine she fell on. Thank the heavens, none of the broken bottle glass stabbed her. She didn’t do any irreparable harm to herself.
It was a surprise party and the birthday girl was due to arrive any minute. Friends rushed from the house to clean up the debris in the driveway and to scrape up Suzanne before the birthday girl arrived. They all scurried back into the house and their hiding places ASAP, while asking Suzanne how much she’d had to drink already. Not a drop.
But I sooo wish I had been there, for two reasons. First, Suzanne and I are both convinced if I had been with her the debacle wouldn’t have happened. If I had been there, I would have been carrying part of what Suzanne held. She would have been able to concentrate more on walking. And second, if she tripped with me there, I probably would have grabbed her before she hit the concrete OR she would have been able to catch herself by grabbing onto me. While she was at the party, she sent me this picture (without the bow tie), and the following text: “This is what happens when you don’t come with me.” True, that. I am a pretty capable walker.
Okay. There’s a third reason I wish I had been there. I would’ve had a bird’s-eye view of Suzanne’s circus act. Who wouldn’t want to see something like that? Trust me, she thinks it’s funny too (until she looks at her face in the mirror). I am sorry I missed the slapstick moment.
Suzanne knows she is a klutz, and we laugh about her clumsiness episodes regularly. There is a litany of tales I could tell about Suzanne’s lack of grace– from her running into a doorframe pole, to her slipping flat onto her back at the Delta bowling alley, toher tripping on the sidewalk at Thriftway, to her parking one of her car’s tires in a coverless manhole, and her weed-whacking her calf, and so on. It’s a blessing she has a good perspective on her abilities and her lack of abilities. Her unintended antics give us reason to laugh often. So far, she has not caused herself major bodily trauma. I cross my fingers.
Seriously, as amused as we are about Suzanne’s odd mis-haps, I wish she’d leave her extraordinary clumsiness behind. We’re too old for this. She’s gonna break a hip. Of course, then I could put her in Millard Care and Rehab as Mom’s roommate, so they could compare hip woes and talk about me and what a trial I am to be around. I could visit them both at the same time. If those two roomed together, that room would be a true carnival ride. Their visitors would walk out breathless but wanting to go back for another ride, again and again.
Since I declared yesterday to be a Pajama Day, I need to report that I did, in fact, loiter around the house in my mismatch-y pj’s and old-timey sleep hat for every minute of my Saturday. Well, I did leave the house once for about 45 seconds, for which event I changed into a striking wood-polka-dotted-pink-glitter Bow Tie o’ the Day. And, of course, I had to step into my Sloggers cow-print boots and don my harlequin-design cape for a dash to my car, to retrieve the new MUMFORD AND SONS cd I had left in there. (Oddly enough, the cd is titled DELTA.) Every Pajama Day requires tunes!
Oh, yes. I must also report that I did eat ice cream for each of my three meals, as per Pajama Day protocol. The entire TILLAMOOK tub of Caramel Butter Pecan ice cream has passed on into the vast, warm Heaven o’ my tummy. Pajama Day or not, today I’m opening up the tub of TILLAMOOK brand S’mores ice cream.
Suzanne did not do this to me. I did it to myself. Bow Tie o’ the Day wonders about me sometimes. So do I. But I yam what I yam.
As you can probably tell, my last cut o’ the hairs– which was in May– was an asymmetrical cut. When I got out of bed this morning, I promptly pigtailed my hairs as well as I could and declared today to be a Pajama Day. It’s a day to engage in sloth-ery. A day to attack no projects, to go nowhere, and to eat whatever ice cream is in the fridge– for all three meals.
FYI I am true to my clash fashion even on Pajama Day, so my pj bottoms do not match this pj top. In some previous Pajama Day pix, you’ve seen that’s the way I roll. It’s how I be. I can’t help it.
Whew! I’m glad Valentine’s season is over. I’m sick of the mushy, smoochy, lovey-dovey attitude we’ve all had to have. Now we can finally go back to arguing with friends and family, and not loving our neighbors. We can resume being rude and ill-tempered to strangers. The pressure is off to pretend we’re nice people. I feel better already.🤡
Bow Tie o’ the Day and I took condiment Cufflinks o’ the Day to sit with Suzanne for lunch at her office– just in case she needed ketchup and/or mustard on her yogurt. She did not. But it’s good to be prepared even if you’re not an official Boy Scout.
While I was at her office watching Suzanne eat, I informed her it’s time for her to help with my stoopid hairs. Some days, I’m just gonna put her in charge of my head fur. Lower your expectations though, because I haven’t had even a trim since May, as per your votes. Suzanne will only be able to do what she can do with the mop I’ve got. She is not a miracle worker with hairs, although she is a miracle worker regarding everything else.
I’m sure the hairdos will mostly end up silly, and maybe even mystifying. What’s new? I had to make Suzanne a deal though, to get her to be my hairstylist. She made me promise to NEVER let y’all vote on anything to do with my head hairs again.
Bow Tie o’ Last Night had a fantastic Valentine’s Day dinner at THISTLE & THYME. The restaurant is located at the U of U Marriott Hotel, which is also where this Dale Chihuly glass chandelier hangs in the atrium. You gotta see it in person to get the beguiling enormity and complexity of the piece. You can see from one of these photos that Suzanne couldn’t look away from it for long enough to have her picture snapped. But the side of her head looks nice.
THISTLE & THYME has existed for less than a year, and it was our first time chowing there. We’ll be going back though. Suzanne’s scallops were luscious, and my tenderloin steak was nummy as all get-out. There are a couple of things on the menu we’d like to try. We had a tough time deciding what interesting dish to order, so we went with their special Valentine’s Day four-course feast. We’re going back for the meatloaf w/ tomato jam, and for the candied bacon. We’ve gotta give those a taste.
Our appetizer was ingenious and delectable. Imagine this: a tater tot, topped with a slice of salmon, topped with creme fraiche, topped with caviar. Who’da thunk it? It was smashing. (I am so mad at myself for not taking a pic of the creation.) A tater tot has more potential for tastiness than I have heretofore realized. And it was so incredibly cute, sitting in its minuscule dish all by it’s awesome tiny self.
Check out the Post-it Note decor I created on one of our living room walls for the day. Hearts, flowers, lips, and a couple of diamond rings. I love Post-it Notes beyond measure, but not necessarily the normal square ones.
Also, note my candy heart Lapel Pin o’ Last Night and Cufflinks o’ Last Night. With all my candy heart-design accessories, not only did my attire have a clear theme which actually fit the occasion, they made my look the most matchy I’ve dressed myself in years. It felt odd.
That is one bigly Post-it Note heart! I thought it best to wear it only for the selfie. Driving while wearing it would probably result in mayhem and tragedy. Let’s see… I’d be pulled over and cited for DWP. Driving While Post-it-ed.
Jumbo Bow Tie o’ the Day is one of my favorites. Actually, I’m fond of jumbo-size bow ties, period. They give off such happy vibes. And we are here to be happy. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. I’m not saying happiness isn’t work. No, it’s something you have to achieve. The happiness a bow tie can give is a fleeting feeling. But if you want real happiness, you have to mostly create it. It’s not going to knock on your door, fully-formed, and say, “I’m here to serve you!”
I think we get distracted by looking to/at others to find happiness. We think: “They seem happy. What do they have that I don’t? I need to get what they have, and then I’ll be happy.” It doesn’t work that way. Your happiness is singular to you. It won’t look like anyone else’s. It is authentic to you, and you only. It is your job to figure out what your happiness will look like. Ignore other people’s ideas of happiness. Mind your own happiness business.
If you find somebody (a spouse, partner, etc.) whose happiness pieces fit with your happiness pieces, you have found a powerful and rare thing. Your happiness inventory will not be exactly the same as the person’s you mesh with. But what would be the fun of that? Do you really want to be married to a clone of yourself? Another person isn’t your happiness. Your chosen person can share in your happiness, just as you can share in theirs. You are a part of each other’s happiness, not the whole of it. Let me make this clear: NEITHER A MATERIAL OBJECT NOR A PERSON “MAKES” YOU HAPPY. You decide to be happy. You make a plan and work to achieve it. It’s an attitude.
Living with another person gives you daily opportunities to express your happiness. You can care for and spoil them with whatever happiness you decide to share. Take the risk to spread your joy around the metaphorical house. You’ll get hurt sometimes, even in the best of relationships. But so what? Remember, you’ll hurt your beloved too. You won’t mean to, but you will. Unless you’re perfect. Be kind. Be brave.
To be happy in a relationship doesn’t mean you feel jolly every minute. You can be happy, yet experience sorrow, anger, frustration, and every other emotion. Real happiness is not an emotion. Happiness is a state of your soul, not a mood.
If you make a habit of working to achieve true happiness, you can weather the relationship storms you will encounter, more easily and more courageously. This doesn’t sound like it makes sense, but I promise it does: When you are in the storm of yourself– when you are aching– muster your courage and every power in your heart to choose your happiness. Open up your happy heart just a bit wider. Share just a little more. Give. And then rain your happiness down on you and your beloved. Take the risk to love your beloved– again and again, day after day, second upon second. Your relationship will grow stronger. Your soul will thank you.
And one more bigly note: Selfishness does not grow happiness. Trying to get everything you want, and always trying to get your way, is as far from happiness as you can get.
This has been yet another bossy sermon. Just sayin’.
Five Valentine-red Bow Ties o’ the Day are proud to provide a recipe we think you’ll find tasty. It’s cheesy and bready. Who could find fault with that?
Actually, I really can’t call this a “recipe.” Mom’s recipes ranged from easy-peasy to intricate and near-impossible. This is a simple one. Three ingredients are all you need. Oh, and you’ll also need an oven.
1 loaf of French bread. 1 stick or 1/2 stick of butter. And one jar of Kraft Old English Spread.
Lay a sheet of foil across a cookie sheet. You do not want to have to clean baked-on cheese off your cookie sheet. Use the foil.
Hand-mix the cheese spread and butter together. Mom generally uses the whole stick of butter, although I’ve seen her use just half a stick. I always use just the half.
Skin ALL the crust off the bread. Ditch the crust.
Cover the entire loaf of bread with the cheese/butter spread. Spread it as evenly as you can. Since the size of French bread loaves vary, you might or might not use the entire amount of spread. If you want a thin layer of cheese on the entire loaf, you’ll probably have enough to cover two loaves.
Throw the loaf on your foil, and bake for 10-ish minutes at 350 degrees. Ovens vary, you know.
Although it’s this simple to make, it’s important to keep an eye on the browning of the cheese. You need to experiment with how crispy/browned you want the top. You do not want the entire loaf crispy/browned. Well, maybe you do. I suggest experimenting many times with different levels of crispy/brown. That gives you an excuse to eat a ton of cheese bread.
The other thing you’ll want to experiment with is how thick you want your cheese spread layer to be.
I recommend you slice the cheese bread (an electric knife works best) while it’s still hot. And put it on the table hot. But it’s still yummy when it has cooled off.
As any good cook knows, even with an easy recipe the taste is in the details. Mom’s excellent cooking was the result of tweaking good recipes to make them better, and her knack for timing. She cooked primarily by sight, smell, and taste. Measuring ingredients wasn’t much of a concern to her. She guesstimated a lot.
That’s what makes it difficult to pin down her actual recipes. If someone wanted a recipe, she’d give them one, but she also invited them to come to the house while she made what they were asking about. Her candy-type creations are especially almost impossible to re-create, even if you watched her make it and tried to write everything down. She was always changing the way she did it or adding a new twist or a different ingredient. [I’ll write more about Mom’s recipe collection and locating specific recipes in another post.]
Oh. About the potato chips and Diet Coke in the photo. Those are to snack on while you make cheese bread.
The company I buy most of my bow ties from (Beau Ties LTD) names each design of its bows. Bow Tie o’ the Day’s name is KISS GOLD, because it is based on Gustav Klimt’s painting called THE KISS, a photo of which I’ve provided here. (And look, there’s a cape involved in the painting’s smooch.) Cufflinks o’ the Day provide mini lips, for added thematic detail. After I got dressed, I made one of the lips links give Skitter a kiss, and it was about the right size for her lips. Note: I don’t usually make my cufflinks kiss Skitter on the lips.
Because it’s almost Valentine’s Day, I should say something about kisses. But I’m at a loss as to how to begin or end writing about a kiss. There is so much to say, and yet no pile o’ words comes close to approximating how it feels to experience kisses. Like the kiss from your soulmate. Or how it feels to kiss your baby for the first time. Or how it feels to give your crying teenager an it’ll-get-better kiss, after they experienced an unfairness at school. Or how it feels to kiss a beloved parent’s forehead for the last time, before the casket lid is closed. I could go on. There are infinite kinds of kisses, and they can mean infinite things. Sometimes a single, solitary kiss can express a multitude of meanings, layer upon layer.
But about kissing or about being kissed, or about what a kiss even is exactly– I dunno. I am a writer, and all this “kiss” stuff is one topic I know I don’t have the skills to write about in a way that could possibly say what I want to say, and say it in the way I want to say it. Kisses leave me speechless, which is probably the most accurate, graceful thing I can say about kissing.
Having praised all kisses, I will now present the exception that proves the rule (at least for me). Here goes: Slobbery kisses on the cheek from aunts are yucky! The horror! The horror! (Not all my aunts, but most.) When we’d go visit an aunt or an aunt would come to our place, the first moment that aunt would see me, I could see it coming. I’d hide, I’d duck, I’d bob-and-weave but I couldn’t dodge the slobbery aunt kisses.
“Aunt Kiss Slobber” never dried. You were always somewhere a paper towel or tissue wasn’t handy, and you didn’t want that kiss goop anywhere on your sleeve. But you didn’t want to wipe it off with your hand because you knew you could never wash your hand completely clean of it– no matter how long and roughly you scrubbed. It would forever feel like it was there, sticky and ewwwww. Forget about your cheek. It’s toast. There’s no saving it. It’s just plain invisibly scarred for time and all eternity.
Decades ago when I was a wee one, up Oak City Canyon for a family gathering, I received an aunt kiss so wet I knew I would surely die of gross. I ran to the creek, grabbed the first leaves I could find, and used them to wipe, wipe, wipe that goo off my face till it hurt. I dunked my head in the water, holding it under as long as I could stand it. My cheek stung like the dickens and I was sure the aunt kiss had eaten clean through my cheek to my teeth. But nope. The leaves I’d grabbed to wipe it off were stinging nettle. I was too young to know my canyon foliage yet. [Do not misunderstand me: I loved my aunts, just not their over-the-top cheek kisses. Even now, I’d choose stinging nettle over an aunt slobber.]
When you become an aunt, you understand the impulse to cover your nieces and nephews in kisses and hugs. When you become an aunt, you automatically receive The Calling: you are endowed with the aunt power that makes it impossible for nieces or nephews to dodge your hugs and kisses. Despite the Aunt Calling, the memory of slobbery aunt kisses has always haunted me. As a result, I have never given a slobbery aunt kiss. I get a gold star for that.
As far as slobbery aunt kisses go, my recommendation to young nieces and nephews all across the planet is this: Since you’re never going to escape your aunts’ kisses, position yourself strategically in front of them, such that they end up kissing the same cheek every time. That cheek will be tainted, but you’ll still have one pure, uncontaminated cheek left for your soulmate.
BTW I know many a grandma gives slobbery kisses too. But that’s different. That is Grandma Slobber, and that’s the best.
