Check out my flannel Face Mask o’ the Day. It is toasty. Bow Ties o’ the Day are decked in Christmas trees and Christmas icons. Ties o’ the Day present holiday characters taking selfies. Here’s my advice for anyone who takes a lot of selfies (myself included): Never let your selfie-taking get in the way of you actually experiencing your adventures. If taking the selfie gets to be more important to you than being a participant in the moment you are experiencing, you are not even living a life. Step back, and just notice your surroundings. Look at the people who are around you. Put down the phone, and step into the frame of your own existence. Somebody else will take a picture—or maybe they won’t. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter if you have photographic proof. You’re alive. Act like it.
Bow Tie o’ the Day is a jolly red and green plaid diamond point. Meanwhile, back at the Tie Ranch in the Tie Room, I found these four Ties o’ the Day to represent four things I want for Christmas, but I know I have zero chance of receiving. First, I know I’m not getting a trip to anywhere with palm trees for X-mas this year. I won’t be wearing any of my Hawaiian shirts. I will have to content myself with mere memories of my feet in sand and surf from vacations o’ the past. Maybe next year.
I also will not be attending any bigly parties where the guests are plenty and the music is louder than any ear should be subject to hearing. Maybe in a few months.
Also, the cats-in-Santa-hats Tie reminds Skitter and me that we aren’t going to receive a kitty—ever. Suzanne has let us know that she is forever done with litter boxes and dustings of cat fur in the house. Suzanne can barely deal with evidence a dog lives with us. When we had three dogs at one time, years ago, I thought Suzanne would have to go into therapy in order to deal with her dogs-in-the-house problem. Fortunately, she survived that herd. She knows I will probably always have a dog around, but one dog is about as far as Suzanne can bend without her skull imploding. She liked having cats until 15 years ago, when she suddenly didn’t like it anymore. She’s now declared herself to be done with felines for the rest of her life, which means I have to be done forever with felines in the house too—which means Skitter will never know the wondrous irritations and annoyances of having a kitty sibling.
Lastly, motorcycle Tie reminds me I will not be receiving a motorcycle for Christmas. Suzanne is adamant that I am not to be riding such a machine. She didn’t mind that I had a motorcycle in the 80’s when we met, but as we get older, she is more and more concerned that I don’t take risks I don’t have to. She is petrified that I might die before she does, so I try to be safe. Maybe I won’t buy her a material object for Christmas. I’ll just tell her I’m giving her the gift of not pestering her for a motorcycle anymore.
I meant to post on Thanksgiving Day, but the fooding surprise strategy I chose was biglier than I originally planned. Even though I was feeding only myself and Suzanne for the feast, I had decided to make T-giving dinner last the whole day. Every few hours, I made and served one component of the meal. Our first menu item was—of course—Mom’s famous cheese bread, which we ate with greasy paws until all that was left of it was the foil upon which it had been baked. About three hours later, I waddled over to the crockpot to dish up the T-giving bird, which was not turkey. Instead of roasting the traditional fowl, I marinated and slow-cooked each of us a Cornish game hen. The hens certainly look like Munchkin turkeys. They are so tiny that it takes a long time to eat the meat off the teensy bones. But the birds were yummy. And do you know what? They tasted like chicken! Even Skitter said so.
A couple of hours later, it was time to pillage some stuffing. And in a few hours more, it was time for candied yams. Soon, it was 7:00 PM—time for the Zoom gathering with all the families in Suzanne’s family. It was fab to see everyone, and I thought it was a fun way to handle our little Thanksgiving-during-a-pandemic. I hope we only have to do it once, though. (A friend’s father died from COVID-19 the day before Thanksgiving, which reinforced our decision to stay home and not get together with our loved ones in person. Too many people close to us here have the virus and are so sick right now. #wearthedangmask)
I planned to cook more dishes Thursday evening, but we were too full, so I pledged to cook the rest of our T-giving meal components on Friday, which I did. We began Friday by finishing the stuffing and yam leftovers. We began anew later, with some salty turkey bacon. After a few hours, I broke out a round of pickled beets. And later still, I served up tater tots in lieu of traditional mashed potatoes. We crowned our all-day Friday Thanksgiving dinner with a pumpkin pie stand-in of Pumpkin Spice Cheesecake flavor Red Button ice cream, as well as Red Button’s Cranberry White Chocolate flavor ice cream. No, I did not make green jello or funeral potatoes. Seriously, I don’t know how I ever thought I could cram the cornucopia o’ meal courses into just one official Thanksgiving day.
We still haven’t been hungry enough to open the cranberry sauce yet. We’ll get to that soon, I’m sure, cuz it just ain’t the feast holidays until you hear the suck of the jellied cranberry blob being expelled from the can.
[Here’s a repeat of a teeny post from 2017. Thanks for your patience, folks, while I get my manic brain settled back into its writing gear. Note to self: Quit being bipolar!]
So I walk into the kitchen this morning—still half-asleep—to fill my mini-keg with ice and Diet Coke. And whoa! I see this surfboard that Bow Tie o’ the Day dragged home from a night on the town. Bow Tie informed me this is not, in fact, a surfboard. It’s a product called an ironing board. I have no earthly idea what you do with one of these. Bow Tie tried to explain its function, but it all sounded like a bunch o’ blah, blah, blah to me. I guess I’ll have to YouTube it.
Check out my new t-shirt. In case you haven’t already guessed, the cookie’s own Bow Tie o’ the Day was the ultimate selling point. (No, I won’t be counting it in my Holiday Tie Tally though.) I’m being matchy with my own gingerbread man Bow Tie o’ the Day.
Although Mom’s excellent goodies were wide-ranging, I don’t recall Mom ever making gingerbread cookies when I was a kid. I don’t recall ever in my life making a gingerbread house of any kind. And I must admit that on the few occasions when I have sampled gingerbread cookies made by other people, I have not found them to be yummy. Smell tasty? Yes. Look cute? Sometimes. Scrumptious? Never. When I was in my late teens, Mom did start to make a triumphant, chewy gingersnap cookie rolled in sugar. Her gingersnaps did not taste anything like what I have known as gingerbread, thank the heavens.
When I was in Graduate School at the University of Utah in the late-80’s, a box full of Mom’s homemade cookies would occasionally show up in my mailbox. Mom always sent far more cookies than I could safely consume on my own, so I often took them to share with my classes. Once, I took a box of Mom’s homemade gingersnaps to a poetry workshop to share with my colleagues and my professor. After the initial ravenous chewing had calmed down in the classroom, one colleague said to me, “Your mother must really love you.” And another swiftly chimed in, “I wish my mother loved me as much as your mom loves you.” It was meant to be funny, I know, and it was. But I had also already begun to recognize that not all parents actively do things to demonstrate their love for their kids as freely as mine always did. I knew my parents thought of me, always—even when I lived 2,000 miles away from their house in Delta, Utah.
I was born into a tribe of huggers and kissers. And in our family, the three magic words of “I love you” were (and still are) spoken regularly among my parents and siblings, as easily as breathing. As I grew up and ventured hither and yon into the bigly world, I very quickly realized what a rare blessing that kind of familial affection and stability truly is. For being born into this solid gift, I give my thanks.
Snowman Ties o’ the Day are showing up due to an off-kilter dream I had last night which was full of snow people terrorizing the neighborhood. When I managed to wake myself from my dream, all I could think about was how memorable the post I would write about all the details of my dream would be to y’all. And then I went back to sleep, pleased with myself. When I woke up this morning, however, I couldn’t remember anything about my dream except that it was full of snowmen who were bent on scaring my neighborhood. I couldn’t remember any interesting specifics. Sorry. I’ll make detailed notes in the middle of the night, next time I have a post-worthy dream.
This Tie o’ the Day is titled by its seller, “Feliz Navidog.” The dog’s snowflake sweater reminds me of a trio of winter outfits Suzanne created many years ago for the three mutts we lived with at that time. She cut the sleeves off an old sweatshirt. She cut 4 leg holes in each of the sleeves, and also in the body of the sweatshirt. She did some clean-up sewing on the dogs’ new attire. Voila! Araby, our yellow lab, wore the body of the sweatshirt. Vinnie and Roxy, our mini-dachshunds, each wore a sleeve. They were warm and stylin’ in the snowy outdoors of Delta, while wearing their Suzanne-made doggie sweatshirts. I, on the other hand, was chilly and missing a sweatshirt.
Candy cane Ties/Bow Ties o’ the Day add their coolness to the flip-side of my wintry cape from last week. This glittery winter wonderland scene is amazingly warm when I’m outside in the b-r-r-r-r-. I’m sure I’ve mentioned it before, but the thing I like most about wearing a cape in the winter is that it feels like I’m wearing a blanket wherever I go. And who wouldn’t want to stay wrapped in their blanket all day, when it’s cold and people-y outside?
From my earliest days as a beachgoer at Gunnison Bend Reservoir, a.k.a, the Rez, I have loved sand, water, and sun. When I was in my older kidhood, I rode my bike the 6 miles to the western-most shore of the Rez every day of summer when I had time, unless my Sister Who Wishes To Remain Nameless had a day off work. If she did, she drove us out to the water to bake under the desert sun on our bigly beach towels. Ah, the smell of Coppertone coconut oil lotion sizzling on our skin.
On the beach, we listened to static-y AM radio stations broadcasting out of Provo, on a clunky transistor radio fueled by D-size batteries. It weighed as much as a jackhammer. We read magazines and paperbacks we had bought at Service Drug or the Rexall, and we drank Tab and Diet Rite Cola—in glass bottles. We ate Clover Club potato chips with Nalley’s dill pickle dip. I had a one-person blow-up raft I lazily paddled across the Rez. I had a goal of crossing over and around the bend to the Sherwood Shores side of the Rez in my little raft, but I never did for some reason. I’m not crying about it, or anything. It was never a Bucket List kind of goal.
The wind at the Rez—as in Millard County, in general—seemed to breeze up almost every day around 5pm, if it hadn’t already been stirring sand up earlier. When the Rez began to get choppy, it was time to get home for a quick supper. I was always eating summer dinner in a perpetual hurry. I had places to be. I had to head uptown on my bike to Delta’s outdoor swimming pool for the evening swim session—to splash in yet another local body of water, and to walk-don’t-run-by-the-pool under what was left of the sunlight on perfect summer days. Even as a child, deep in my skin, I could feel the burn of vintage moments passing.
Holiday Tie Tally: 60 Neckties. 10 Bow Ties.
#amaskadaykeepsthecovidaway #wearthedangmask
That’s a yellow bow on my hat. There’s one on the other side of my hat too.That’s not my cool, bigly beach towel, of which I wrote. It’s somewhere around there though, I promise.
Bow Tie o’ the Day suggests I eat some fish, while Cufflinks o’ the Day suggest macaroni and cheese. Along with being out of ice cream, I’m out of those two food staples too.
But I’m happy to wear symbols of them. In fact, wearing them is sorta like wearing my shopping list. When I go shopping at Dick’s Market later this morning, how can I possibly forget to buy salmon, cheese, and macaroni? Of course, that all depends on if I remember to look at what I’m wearing. I’m good at forgetting to take my shopping list to the store or—if I have my list—for forgetting to look at it while I’m there filling my shopping cart with everything except what I went there for. Perhaps I’ll have more luck buying the listed things if I’m wearing the grocery items I need. I’ll let you know if it worked.
The woman who works at the meat counter at Dick’s gives me an earful of chastisement if I end up there without wearing a tie of some kind. She particularly enjoys the bow ties. She always has something to say about whatever tie I’m wearing. She also remembers the meat items I usually get, right down to the poundage. I don’t even have to tell her my order. She just gets my order ready while we chat. After she’s wrapped it all up and printed out the price for each item, she asks if I need anything else. I rarely do. She knows my meat list well.
Since Dick’s is my regular grocery store, my ties are usually a point of conversation with whatever staff I run into. Even the folks in the pharmacy ask to see whatever neckwear I’m in, even if I’m not picking up prescriptions. The pharmacy is right next to the ice cream section, which you know I frequent. It never fails. A pharmacist will see me choosing my ice cream, and they’ll call me over so they can gaze at my tie.
I have no idea if the Dick’s folks like me, but they love my neckwear. Sometimes I feel like I work at Dick’s. It’s as if I’m the resident entertainment. My ties make the store a cabaret. Food and a show together = a cabaret.🍗
