Category: Stories

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Stunt Bow Ties, Yellow Snow, And Gender

The snow on the patio furniture was about a foot deep this morning. It was dazzling to look at, but Skitter’s never happy when she doesn’t have enough clearance to squat without her butt getting in the snow when she needs to do her business. With her task completed, Skitter hustled her pampered doggie self right back into the house. The stunt Bow Tie’s o’ the Day, on the other hand, frolicked the entire day away in the wind and chill, even as the bigly snowflakes fell again and again. Bow Tie Angels were everywhere.

I have made no secret of the fact that I do not generally like to suffer the cold—even for purposes of play. A little outside cold goes a long way with me. I don’t remember freezing temperatures being so bothersome to me when I was wee, but now that I’m verging on The Really, Really Old Side Of Middle Age, I just say NO to opportunities to romp in brrrrr temps.

I do love to gander at winter landscapes if I can do it from the warmth of the Great Indoors. Also, driving slowly on gravel roads through cold, snowy, desert landscapes in a heated, beat-up pick-up truck is an undeniably amazing experience. If it’s not on your Bucket List, put it on your list right now. Trust me. If you take such a drive in the desert west of Delta, you’ll think you’ve died and returned to life in a snow globe. The sky out that way is just plain that bigly.

Anyhoo… When I was 6 or so, every time it snowed, a certain male member of my family took great pleasure in telling me that boys are better than girls for the simple “fact” that they can pee their names in the snow. It bothered me to no end that I had to suffer through this family member’s constant taunting about a stoopid lie. I knew darn well boys weren’t better than girls, but it annoyed the heck out of me to hear it.

One snow-covered Delta day when I was pestered about this “fact” again, I’d finally had it. I said to the male member of my family, “I’ll bet you $5 I can pee my name in the snow.” The bet was on; my coat was on; my pants were off; and I hop-peed my name in the snow across the front yard. Before I was finished, somebody (or somebodies) in the neighborhood had called Mom to ask if I was ok. Mom brought the long-corded phone receiver and opened the front door. She asked me what I was doing, and I told her exactly what I was up to. I heard her then say calmly into the receiver, “She’s just peeing her name in the snow to win a bet. She’s just about done, and then she’ll put her pants on again.” Nothing fazed Mom.

Later, through the picture window, while I was warming up by the fireplace, I watched various neighborhood kids—and an adult neighbor or two— make a pilgrimage to our front yard, where they paused to admire my doomed-to-melt masterpiece. I had peed a blow for girlkind!

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You Have To Pick A Team

Football Bow Tie o’ the Day is mighty appropriate for our day-after-Super-Bowl post. Since the Seahawks weren’t in the bigly game, I mostly checked in occasionally to see the score during whatever we were really watching on tv. A gal’s gotta root for one team or the other in the Super Bowl, whether a gal really cares or not. I went with the “I like Andy Reid” reason to cheer for the Kansas City Chiefs. It’s as good a reason as any to back a team. TIE O’ THE DAY gives its shout-out to Andy Reid—NFL coach extraordinaire.

Bishop Travis has been a Philadelphia Eagles fan since the Pre-existence, so when Andy Reid coached the Eagles for more than a decade, Travis was double-happy. I’m sure it was touch-and-go in the Blackwelder household when Andy got banished from Philly, then turned up coaching the Chiefs. Bishop Travis is still a die-hard Eagles fan, but he’s also a die-hard Andy Reid fan. Bishopette Collette is right there with him in the scrimmage.

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Aaaaaaarrrrrrrggggggghhhhhhh!

Sing with us: “Nobody knows the troubles Bow Tie o’ the Day has seen. Nobody knows but Bow Tie.”

Folks, I’m in a baaaaad mood this morning. I woke up on the grumpy side of the bed, and the grumpy is stuck to me. My frustration is all about some righteous anger I need to feel deeply; work through completely; then let go of for good. We’ve all been through the process before, and we’ll all have to go through it again. Why? Because not one of us is perfect, and nobody we know is perfect. The result of our imperfections is that we damage each other, whether we try to or not. And thus, today I will be bitchy for a bit—while I get my righteous anger straightened out and tossed away. But for right now, I’m feeling my smoldering grump.

Here’s a small quote from Anne Lamott, which so accurately expresses my current feelings:“I thought such awful thoughts that I cannot even say them out loud because they would make Jesus want to drink gin straight out of the cat dish.”

Yup. That about covers my mood.

FYI Yes, I’m still in my pajamas. Yes, I need my head hairs cut. And yes, I’d rather be in Toad Suck, Arkansas.

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And The Bow Tie Goes To…

In my intrepid search through VOGUE magazine for the perfect gown to wear on the Red Carpet at the upcoming Oscars, I found these nuggets of what’s “in.” I’m both intrigued and perplexed. And I’m very glad there is no formal gown in this clothing collection, because it would probably be right up my alley. But where exactly do you tie on a Bow Tie o’ the Day to wear with these outfits? Where, oh, where does my little bow tie go?

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A Sad Day Around Here

Bow Tie o’ the Day and I are struggling with the fact that tonight we’ll be watching the last new episode ever of HOMICIDE HUNTER: LT. JOE KENDA, on the ID channel. We’ve been wearing black all day, and we consider ourselves to be in minor mourning. It is just a tv show, but it matters to me. Suzanne likes it too. And both of my sisters are bigly fans. Heck, even Mom got a kick out of Joe’s “my, my, my”-ing whenever she watched it with us over the years. The last time she watched an episode with us, she said of Joe Kenda, “How long has this old fossil been on tv? He’s been solving murders for a hundred years. He plays his part so well.” Yup, cuz he is playing himself. But not anymore.

I have no doubt I’ll shed a few tears after tonight’s finale. C’mon, you know you have “your” shows which you must not miss. The tv shows we’re partial to can be a regularly scheduled respite to us, in the midst of an unpredictable and serious world. I know Lt. Joe Kenda has sometimes been the exact kind of pal I’ve needed at the time: a weekly dose of a smart, compassionate storyteller who asks absolutely nothing from me. Unfortunately, the Joe Years of my life will be over at 8 PM tonight. But I still have my Joe Kenda t-shirt to wear and two HOMICIDE HUNTER notebooks to fill.

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Every Piece Must go

I looked for my wood puzzle-piece Tie o’ the Day in the Tie Room this morning, and it was nowhere to be found— until I checked on the napping Skitter. Behold! I think Skitter is hinting she is a bit tired of us paying so much attention to the joy of puzzling lately. The Skit will have my undivided attention for hours now.

Suzanne says she will gladly pay the postage to ship the doggie doo-doo puzzle to anyone who wants it. She was a good sport to help put it together, and she laughed heartily about doing it. But she’d rather the puzzle live in somebody else’s house now. Be the first to dibs the 1000-piece marvel, and I’ll ship it to you for free— with Suzanne’s blessing.

I am the household Procurer o’ Puzzles, and I want you to know that the puzzle we’re putting together now is called THE CRAFT CUPBOARD. As I posted before, Suzanne deserves a medal for putting up with me. THE CRAFT CUPBOARD puzzle is her actual reward—with all its depictions of scissors and rulers and fabric and colored markers and yarn and paints and a gluttony of other misc. craftical notions.

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Look At It At Your Own Risk

We here at TIE O’ THE DAY thought some of you might be curious to see the completed “dogs doo-dooing” puzzle. Suzanne was discombobulated by the subject matter, but she puzzled right along with me, nonetheless. And yes, she placed the last pieces together. She’s The Puzzle Closer.

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Absurd Happens, Again

[This is a much requested re-post of an earlier tale. I hope you enjoy it— again, or for the first time.]

Hey! Look what I rescued. It’s my ties-themed 100 oz. mini-keg, which was my go-to sip cup for a couple of years after I bought it. Although it cracked inside last year, I never had the heart to throw it out. Its flex straw had a slight crack in it too, and the lid doesn’t fit tightly either, but its tie graphics are too perfect for me. 7-11 doesn’t sell the tie design anymore, so I can’t go buy another one. What’s a girl to do with a cracked 100 oz. ties mini-keg? For the last year it’s been mocking me by sitting in the garage whining out its jealousy of my new, differently designed. I was about to finally toss the battered, cracked mini-keg over the weekend. And then I had a genius idea I can’t believe I didn’t think of last year: DUCT TAPE. I’ll tape the inside cracks and let you know how it works out.

As I searched for the duct tape, Tie o’ the Day and I were contemplating the weirdities of my life. I don’t care who you are or how straight-laced and “normal” your life has been, you’ve found yourself in surreal situations here and there, when you wonder how you got in the predicament, and how you’ll ever get out of it. You didn’t set out to be in the situation. The scenario is so outlandish you couldn’t have purposely concocted it if you had wanted to. And you’re positive no one will believe you when you tell them the story.

Because I am I, I have a zillion of ’em. Because I am I, everyone knows my improbable tales really occurred. I call these odd goings-on My Greatest Hits. One of My Greatest Hits is courtesy of the 7-11 in Takoma Park, MD, in the mid-90’s. It doesn’t star a 7-11 mini keg, just a 7-11 Super Big Gulp cup.

Interstate 95 is the main N-S route on the East Coast. The traffic usually runs at a pretty good clip. I used to drive it every school day morning from Washington, D.C. to Baltimore’s inner city where I taught middle school. My drive to work usually took about 35 minutes.

But one morning, when I was just about to exit the freeway and head into West Baltimore, all lanes of the I-95 traffic going my way came to a halt. That was rare for that particular area of the freeway. Rarer still, an hour later no vehicle had moved a centimeter. Something bigly was surely shutting down the road. (It ended up being a many-car accident.) By that time, I had been sitting in the car for more than an hour. For me, that’s venturing into MUST PEE NOW territory. I had finished my Super Big Gulp of Diet Coke, and I needed to get rid of it. I don’t mean I needed to throw away the cup. A half-hour later, all drivers were still sitting in the precise same place we first were stopped. I was beyond desperation. I had no choice except to do what I had to do.

As a middle school teacher at the time, I learned to always have back-up clean clothing in the car. Out of nowhere, middle schoolers can create unheard of messes, and it’s not uncommon for those messes to end up on the teacher— whether you were anywhere near ground zero or not. It’s nice to have clean clothes to step into. Anyhoo… In an attempt to make myself invisible in my car for a minute, I used my spare clothes to cover my front, side windows. I pulled down the visors. With my empty Super Big Gulp cup, I strategically did what had to be done. The contortionist skills I learned as a teenage mooner came in quite handy. Mission accomplished. Almost.

I extremely carefully got my pants back where they belonged. I opened my door and emptied the cup, which I didn’t want to keep in the car, but I don’t litter. I “baby wiped” my hands. (It was the pre- hand sanitizer era.) Although we drivers had all been stuck going nowhere on I-95 for almost two hours, I felt much better.

As I took my back-up clothes down from the windows, I heard a knock. I was sure it was a cop who would soon give me a ticket for Public Urination or Public Indecency or some such charge that would put me on the Sex Offender Registry. But it wasn’t a cop. It was a soccer mom from the van behind me. She asked, “Can I borrow that cup? I gotta go too.” I said, “No, you may not borrow it. You must keep it. Please, for the love of all that’s holy, keep it. Take these Wet Wipes too.”

I kid you not. Soccer Mom was not the last person to use my cup. I watched my Super Big Gulp cup and the wipes travel up, down, and across a handful of the halted lanes as we sat parked on I-95 whittling away our time in the pre- affordable cell phone era. The cup that almost ranneth over had a somewhat bonding effect on those who were there that day. That cup was the founder of a different kind of Relief Society. Those of us who got relief became friends for life, even though we didn’t talk to each other and we would never see each other again. We shared a moment.

I do not know who ended up with the Super Big Gulp cup and baby wipes.

BTW Speaking of my Delta, teenage mooning career, I once mooned a worker at the Taco Time drive-up window while driving and wearing overalls. Now that is a true and rare skill set. (Yes, young-un’s, Delta once had a Taco Time. And an A & W and an Arctic Circle.)

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Life Is A Punchline

Last weekend, Suzanne and I ventured out to a comedy show. I thought my Prince-Albert-in-a-can Bow Tie o’ the Evening was absolutely appropriate for a comedic adventure.

We all had a swell time listening to the hilarious Paula Poundstone, whose turning and twisting observations were spot-on. I went on a principled strike, refusing to take pix at the event because Paula was not wearing a tie! I have watched her perform on tv since the late 80’s, and in every performance I saw, she was wearing a tie. But on the one night I— the TIE O’ THE DAY tblogger, and constant wearer o’ ties— paid to see Paula Poundstone perform in person, she didn’t wear a tie. It broke my heart a little. But she did wear a tuxedo, and she fiddled with her collar enough when she came onto the stage that I felt like she was realizing she had forgotten to tie one on, so to speak. I forgave her, but I still didn’t take any pictures. My tie feelings were hurt, for each and every tie I own. I’m almost completely over the snub to ties everywhere.

Life can be difficult. Small things and bigly things can grab us and throw us off track. Even things we have under control can have uncertain outcomes. We stumble, we fall, we get hurt. Bad things happen to us all. Stuff happens. That’s life.

If we’re lucky folks, when we find ourselves in an existential jam, we have our people to help us out: friends, family, Good Samaritans, and dogs. And we have ourselves. We forget to tap into our strengths. Most of you are up to the task of helping others, but are you up to the task of saving yourself? The answer to our dilemmas is mostly in our ability to help ourselves. Take care of yourself every day. Be kind to yourself. You’re no good to anyone else if you’re falling apart inside and out.

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I Usually Do What I’m Told

Usually, but not always. When Suzanne goes whistling off to work on weekday mornings, her last instruction to me is almost always, “Be good.” To which I reply some snarky remark like, “If it’s your command, I guess I’ll have to try.” Or, “I’ll be better than good, I’ll be perfect” But when she told me to be good today, I said, “No. That’s all over with. No more being good for me.” There was a palpable silence as she held the door open to the garage, mostly because I never say NO to Suzanne even in jest. Suzanne was temporarily speechless, but not fazed for long. She said, “Well, just call if you need me to bail you out of jail.” And then she left, shutting the door behind her, before I could say anything in response.

I got thinking about it, and I realized Suzanne always jokes with me to be good because she pretty much assumes I’m already planning on being good— which, I admit, is true. But I’m kinda insulted that she doesn’t really think I’m capable of getting into mischief. I took that as a challenge. So what bad things did I do today?

I didn’t wear a bra. I didn’t do errands. I didn’t walk Skitter to pick up the mail. I cooked myself liver for lunch, so the house will likely still reek of the smell when Suzanne gets home. I said all the swear words I could think of, just to be really, really bad. Of course, I made sure to shut Skitter in her crate upstairs while I went downstairs to swear. Swearing in front of Skitter is a level of bad where I will never go.

The baddest thing I did today is so bad that I will undo it before Suzanne gets home: Bow Tie o’ the Day and I completed the PENCILS puzzle Suzanne and I started over the weekend. Check out those photos. To fully appreciate how bad that is, you have to understand that in our entire decades-long relationship, our puzzling partnership has evolved to seamless workmanship. There are unsaid, unwritten rules and responsibilities. I don’t know how or why the rules came into being, but I don’t mess with them. For example, I am responsible for getting the puzzle pieces spread out on the table, right-side up. I am also in charge of finding all the edge pieces, and setting them aside. Suzanne is the only one allowed to put together the edge pieces. And one of the other rules is that Suzanne gets to finish the puzzle— whether she puts in the last hundred pieces or the last three. The point is that Suzanne completes the puzzles. Always. See how bad I was today?

So I guess I can be bad if I try hard, but I am not stoopid. I will take 40 or so random pieces out of the already-finished puzzle. I will lay them out all around the table, so when Suzanne comes home from work tonight, she can relax ’round the puzzle which she will finish. Oh, happy day! And I won’t need to be bailed out of jail!

FYI Don’t worry about Suzanne finding out I actually completed the puzzle, out of my sincere attempt to be bad. She doesn’t read TIE O’ THE DAY daily. She binge-reads it when she has time, and I happen to know she’s too busy this week to read it at all. By the time she reads this post, I will have already felt so guilty about the puzzle lie, to the point that I will have already confessed to her and been forgiven. It’s all good.