I got my Suzanne-sewn wintry cape out of the closet this morning. It will be my go-to cape through the Thanksgiving/Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa Season. At night, under the lights of the city, it sparkles and shimmers like a fabric gem—no matter which of its sides is showing. The snowy cape is a charming background to this morning’s seven seasonal Ties o’ the Day, with one Bow Tie o’ the Day on top. And thus, in my wintry cape and neckwear, I shall now harness Skitter for our walk to the mailboxes. What would our neighbors do without our daily spectacle?
Bow Tie o’ the Day has some fancy gold shimmer going on, as does the holly Tie o’ the Day. Other than that, we have some snowmen, some Santa’s, and some festively dressed Scottie dogs adorning our Ties o’ the Day. Lastly, our centerpiece Tie o’ the Day is a rendition of what might be happening this very second up at the North Pole: reindeer auditions. The tie’s falling, failing reindeer looks like it could be our very own Skitter. However, I know for a fact Skitter’s not out of town, trying out for anything. Why? She just received a bigly package of X-mas ties for herself to wear during the upcoming holidays, and she has an unusually close relationship with her ties—much like I do. We don’t just up and leave our neckwear to fend for itself on a seasonal whim. I have the heavily populated Tie Room to oversee, and Skitter has the Tie Crate to care for. Yes, one of her crates is dedicated to her ties and bow ties. I’m so proud of her. She’s a chip off the old neckwear knot.
TIE O’ THE DAY sends a bigly Merry Birthday greeting to Suzanne’s mom, Geraldine. She turned 80 a few days ago. As my family did with Mom’s 90th birthday in September, Suzanne’s family kept it safe: no party. Instead, we all secretly grooved-up our cars and created a surprise birthday parade for the Mrs. Claus look-alike, right in front of her house. Our decorated cars circled the block twice, horns honking, probably annoying the neighborhood with our celebratory exuberance. After our second lap, we halted our parade in front of the house, got out of our cars, and sang “Happy Birthday” to Geri. To be honest, I only whisper-sang. I love Geri far too much to belt out a song at her with my questionable voice, even as part of a chorus—especially on her 80th birthday.
I’ve been trying to remember my first interaction with Suzanne’s mom, and my brain can trace it to 1985, when I couldn’t afford a haircut. Suzanne offered up her mom’s services, and Geri cut my head hairs as I sat on a chair behind their former house.
Mom has always said that she was blessed to have two wonderful mothers in her life: her own, and her mother-in-law. I knew what she meant, but I didn’t fully understand it in my heart until I got Geri.
BTW Please note that Skitter wore her tie for the parade. Look closely, and you’ll see her and her Tie o’ the Day in the car.
And Tie o’ the Day and I continue to flip from news channel to news channel, so I can hear a multitude of commentaries about the current state o’ the vote-counting. Here’s my analysis: Some television talking heads do not reside anywhere near a place called Logic-ville. I’m interested in those takes too, though. Seriously, I am intrigued by why people think what they think—no matter how near or far from Logic-ville they take off their boots. I like to listen to the journey their reasoning takes to get them to where they are, in terms of their political bent. I said it in slightly different words yesterday: I am a political nerd. But I am a political nerd in a tie.
I’m enthralled with all the twists and speed bumps of elections. Skitter and I have been flipping through channels, following the melodrama of vote-counting from oodles of different political bents. We, here at TIE O’ THE DAY, are remaining relatively calm and patient, confident that the United States of America will survive intact—no matter who ends up driving the bigly bus. I am confident of it because it is we, the people, who are the country.
Besides, waiting a few days for election results is a cinch. In 2000, Grandma Anderson was living at the Sands. She was 91. She had fallen there one day, breaking both a hip and a shoulder. When she was released from the hospital a few weeks after her tumble, she returned to her little apartment in the Sands, but she needed constant care. She was waiting for a spot to open up for her in the care center, where she could have 24-hour, trained care for the rest of her life. But until the care center had room for her, someone from the family was always on duty in her apartment to tend to her needs. I stayed with her most nights.The Gore/Bush election took place that November. A few days after the election, Grandma began asking me who our new president was. I explained that Gore got the most votes, but Bush was most likely going to be the President. Try explaining the Electoral College and “hanging chads” to your grandma when she’s 91. And soon I had to explain why the Supreme Court was involved in the decision, and so on.
Every night, I’d go to Grandma’s for our sleeping party so I could be there if she needed something. Usually, she just needed a bowl of Cheetos. Every morning, almost the first question out of Grandma was, “Do we have a President yet?” And every evening when I showed up for our sleepover, her question was, “Do we have a president yet?” That went on for oh-so-many mornings and evenings. I was getting a bit irritated with the question, as well as with the whole president-in-limbo thing.
Weeks after the 2000 election, on December 12, when I showed up for my “Grandma shift,” I burst through the door and said, “Grandma, don’t even ask! We finally have a president!” When she asked who it was, I said, “The Supreme Court says it’s George Bush.” She thought about it a minute, then said, “Didn’t we have one of those already?” My thoughts exactly. So I had to do some more explaining to Grandma Anderson. I loved her so.
FYI I took this selfie at my hearing aid appointment this morning. Diagnosis: I can’t hear anything I don’t want to hear. 😉
Constitution Face Mask o’ the Day and starry, stripey Bow Tie o’ the Day will be watching election results with me throughout the evening, because Suzanne is working late—and I cannot watch scary things when I’m alone.🤡 (Skitter is too scared to watch at all.)
One of my three minors in college at Weber State was Political Science. I’ve always been drawn to understanding how government works, and how it can work better for citizens. I briefly toyed with the idea of becoming a political speechwriter back when I was a young whippersnapper. But, even waaaay back then, I knew that when bigly money is involved, respectable politicians are few-and-far-between, and I did not want to take the chance of having to spend my time writing lofty, lying speeches for slickster candidates to spew forth into a microphone. Nope. Political speechwriting wasn’t my true calling. Instead, I was called to do something else. I still don’t know exactly what that “something else” is yet. The older I get, the less I know. Knowing that I know less—that’s called wisdom. And it’s my wisdom that made sure I voted in the 2020 General Election long before any and all voting deadlines.
See ya on the flip-side of the bigly VOTE, my pals!
Bow Tie o’ the Day and I thought it was a no-brainer. I woke up Halloween morning with a gruesome, icky zit on my chin, so I decided it could be my costume: I would be a teenager for the festivities. Zit + attitude = teenager! Easiest. Costume. Ever.
The pandemic Halloween around our house began ominously. When I turned on the tv to the morning news, reports of Sean Connery’s death were rampant. That meant the pictures of Sean Connery were also rampant. Since he and Dad were doppelgängers, the pix of Sir Sean Connery kept reminding me of Dad, which made me extra-miss him.
On top of sprouting a zit and missing Dad all day, we had a grand total of 1 Trick-or-Treater knock. By the time I put on my mask and gloves and grabbed the candy dish, the poor ghoul was already gone when I finally opened the front door. I was glad when Halloween was over. Fortunately, there’s plenty of candy left over for me to munch on. The zit continues to be an unwelcome guest.
Bow Tie o’ the Day loves word-play as much as I do. We tend to create clever, silly costumery instead of scary outfits. When our troops were knee-deep in Iraq in the 2000’s, I wore this costume for a Halloween or two. The phrase “The War in Iraq” was omni-present on tv and radio then. To create this party get-up, I simply morphed that phrase into THE WAR IN MY RACK costume. (Note: This is not any kind of political commentary, although my heart is always with our troops.)
BTW Ancient birthday salutations on this 30th of October to my niece, Mimi Tucker, who is my Mini-me—my doppelgänger. You’re yet another tough ol’ Wright broad, following a famous/infamous tradition. We love yer feisty, funny guts, Amanda Jo!
This cartoon showed up in my Facebook messages yesterday, along with a brief note from Peggy’s daughter, Julie. (For anyone who doesn’t already know, Peggy was Mom’s best friend for over 60 years, until Peggy passed away. They each cooked and cooked. And they were proud of their bewitching ways.) Julie wrote that she had come across this a few weeks ago, and even made a card out of it to send to Mom. The cartoon fits them to a “T.” I messaged back my thanks to Julie for thinking to make it into a card and send it to Mom—as well as letting me in on it. No sooner had I hit the return key to send the message than I realized “Helen” and “Peggy” were in Mom’s handwriting. It was also a NEW YORKER magazine cartoon. It dawned on me this thing started out with me finding it in a magazine years ago! I was beginning to recall a general sense of how this came full circle.
Here’s my memory’s best theory: I saw the cartoon in THE NEW YORKER magazine and—recognizing my two favorite classy witches, Mom and Peggy—tore it out or copied it, then handed it to Mom. I have no doubt that when I gave it to her, I said something snarky like, “Mom, here’s a picture of you and Peggy in the news again, wreaking havoc.” Of course, Mom must have then passed it on to Peggy (because I don’t remember doing it), but not before making it funnier by clearly identifying who’s who, by writing both of their names on it for all the world to see. Mom and Peggy, together, were The Bobbsey Twins. I was merely an occasional third wheel in the drinking-Pepsi-and-driving movie of their lives.
You know how I am about coincidences, signs, and such. As I’ve said before, folks, we’re all connected. Everything is connected. What we do will come back to us. We will likely one day need aid from the very people we have hurt or ignored. That, too, will come back to torment us, if only in our own memories.
This cartoon is just a simple, light-hearted drawing that found its image all the way back to me, causing me to think of Mom and Peggy with a full and grateful joy. I’m glad it was a good thing that found it’s way back in my direction. Imagine if it had been a mean-spirited thing I had said or done to them that ricocheted back to me—with Peggy three-years-gone now, and Mom now quarantined in her room at the care center. I am happy to report that as far as I can recall, I have no regrets about my dealings with either of the two giant witches who so shaped my sensibilities and taught me to sharpen my broomstick when necessary. Besides, I have a feeling that if I’d ever gotten out of line with either of those dames, I would have gotten my what-goes-around-comes-around karma back from both of them right then and there.
FYI I did a little research about the cartoon this afternoon, and found that it was drawn by Sam Gross, and published in the June 23, 2014 issue of THE NEW YORKER. I had a subscription to the magazine then, as I do now. And it is worth every penny the subscription has cost me over the decades, just to have Julie send this to me yesterday.
Yup, I’m still in my pajamas. Still recuperating from being old, or whatever condition I’m in. I’ve been napping around the living room today, going from couch to love seat, then back again. I’ve been quite boring to myself and Skitter. I’m just so bloody tired. I fall asleep at the drop of a hat, or the drop of a tie. Full disclosure: I did walk upstairs to the Tie Room once to grab my afternoon post accessories. Different Hat o’ the Day. Different Tie o’ the Day. Different Face Mask o’ the Day. I wouldn’t want to wear the exact same outfit in two different posts—ever. I do, however, stand by repeating the words on my mask. We should be nice humans to other humans, over and over again, every day. That Masked Message goes with any outfit I could ever possibly dream up.
