I chose to wear world map Bow Tie o’ the Day for our flight from SLC to Albuquerque, New Mexico yesterday. You might remember we were in ABQ for a week almost exactly a year ago, for Suzanne’s work. I tourist-ed while she worked-ed. That’s when I went on my balloon ride. But all we did in ABQ this time was land at the airport and rent a car. Even Suzanne is on vacay, and so we drove up to Taos for the week. We hope to do nothing. We have no plans.
Candy Corn Bow Tie On A Shelf o’ the Day (Can I make names any longer? Probably.) stared out the plane window the entire flight to ABQ. And then at the ABQ airport, Candy Corn Bow Tie found a dog to play with. Woof! Like Helen Jr., like Candy Corn Bow Tie.
My Tie o’ the Day for our visit with Mom last Friday was full of a spooky bunch of ghosts and pumpkins. Please gloss right over the dopey look on my face, and turn your attention to Mom and Skitter looking adoringly into each other’s eyes.
In the second pic, Skitter is apparently being a model while I’m taking a photo of the two Halloween pillows Suzanne made for Mom. Skitter is a photobomber.
Last week, Suzanne finished a bigly project, which has kept her at her office for basically three months straight. I kid you not. The project was a tremendous success. I wish I had permission to write about it, but I don’t. Trust me, though: you should be as amazed as I am that Suzanne does brilliant work for the benefit of public school students, educators, and education employees.
Anyhoo… Suzanne took a day off Friday, before our vacay to New Mexico– which is where we are right now. We just had to use the day to go visit the Big Helen. Yes, at 89, Mom is The Incredible Shrinking Woman, but she’s still the bigliest shrinking person I know. That woman can fill up a room by just walking in. I always describe Mom as the coolest old broad I know, and this photo proves it yet again. The candy corn Bow Tie o’ the Day Mom’s holding up to her neck is just the cherry on top of her coolness sundae.
This snappy snapshot also gave me an idea. Since Halloween Candy Corn Bow Tie seems to be quite popular with TIE O’ THE DAY readers, I think we should play a game with it. I’m proposing a sort of “Elf On A Shelf” series of adventures for Candy Corn Bow Tie. Every day, from now until Halloween’s over, you’re going to see at least one photo of what I’ll simply call Candy Corn Bow Tie On A Shelf. I, myself, am interested to discover what Candy Corn Bow Tie will see and do. I have a feeling its capers will show it to be pretty cool.
But no matter what, Bow Tie can’t possibly be as cool as Mom. Compared to Mom, the rest of us are barely room temperature. I know I’m prejudiced in her favor, but that doesn’t mean I’m not right.
Bow Tie o’ the Day reminds me of hunting pheasants with my dad, which we sometimes did from as close as our own back yard. I ordered Bow Tie with Dad and hunts in mind. But when it showed up to live with me, I knew immediately it was sort of an oopsie. This is a bow tie whose idea was better than its execution. It is pretty enough, but it just doesn’t show itself off to spectators very well. Ya can’t see the pheasants! When I’m wearing Bow Tie, no one can decipher what’s on it unless they creep right up into my face. And “creep” is the right word because when people I’m not married to or who aren’t babies get that close to my face, it feels creepy. Seriously, that degree of up-close is what I refer to as I-can-count-your-nose-hairs-without-even-trying-you-creep close. Yeah, that kind of close.
I love Bow Tie anyway, despite how it sometimes creates awkward situations for me. It’s silk, too, which feels elegant. And it still reminds me of Dad.
When I was wee, every year after bagging our pheasants, he’d stick a couple of handsome pheasant tail feathers into an empty rifle shell, then crimp it closed. VOILA! I would throw that feather-and-shell toy as high and as far as I could for hours, watching its feathery trajectory plop it back to the dirt. Best. Childhood. Toy. Ever. Thanks, Dad.
I stole my Wrangler pink ribbon hat back from Skitter this afternoon when I had to zip into SLC for a quick appointment with my pain doc, Dr. Bow. (Her real name has “bo” in it.) She did not recognize me when she came into the exam room, because she had never before seen me in a Tie o’ the Day. Apparently, I’ve only ever worn bow ties to my appointments with her. She said she liked my Tie o’ the Day as a snappy, purple reminder to everyone to steer clear of domestic violence this month and every month. She also told me that I act more like a bow tie gal than a necktie gal. I told her I completely agree, but there’s no way in heck I’m ditchin’ my beautificent necktie pals. They are a part of me too.
Y’all might be wondering why this tblog is called TIE O’ THE DAY, instead of BOW TIE O’ THE DAY, since I wear more bow ties than any other kind of neckwear. Well, a couple of years ago when I finally persuaded Suzanne to build me a website, I was actually wearing neckties seven days a week, plus wearing a bow tie to church. Hence, I created and purchased the domain name tie-o-the-day. I’m not getting a new one. No new domain name for me. “Tie” is a general term that can cover all types of ties, so it’s still accurate, no matter what kind of neckwear I’m sporting.
Anyhoo… This afternoon, I had a hallelujah time at my pain appointment. And what makes a pain appointment fantastic? I asked my doc to reduce my pain meds by half, and Dr. Bow gave it the thumbs-up. It’s all thanks to the heavy duty pancreas surgery I had a year ago. It has also helped that I have spent the last year doing relatively nothing strenuous as I’ve recovered from my little operation. I’ve overly babied myself, and I have moved super-gingerly since surgery. My Hanky Panky hurt 24/7 for almost two decades. I’ve only got 1/3 of it left now, and that remaining 1/3 is mostly healthy. It emits much less pain, yet functions better than my whole Hanky Panky did. I’m feeling pretty good these days, physically. Knock on wood. Maybe my next Dr. Bow pain appointment will be the last. A girl can dream.
You are correct, if you think I gifted Gracie her Tie o’ the Day bib. Bishopette Collette sent me this photo of her and Bishop Travis’ Wonderment Girl a couple of days ago, along with an explanation that the little darling is wearing her tie bib to eat her very first peas. I think Gracie looks like she’s enjoying them. Or maybe she just puts on this gorgeous face for the camera when she knows she’s gonna be starring on TIE O’ THE DAY. Honestly though, I know for a fact she never takes off this endearing face. It’s the only face I’ve ever seen her wear. How can I not show her off, peas and tie bib and all?!
Face it, folks. Gracie is the newest part of my wild, neckwear-y, spectacular life. She fits right inside my bow-tied heart. Expect to see her here from time to time. If you are tired of seeing her pix here already, you should probably go ahead and unfriend me; unfollow me; and/or unsubscribe to the TIE O’ THE DAY tblog now. Oh, and then you should immediately go visit a therapist, cuz something is surely kaput with The Adorable-osity Detector in your brain. Just sayin’.
I love running across pix of Mom. Here she is, sometime around four years ago, visiting me in my former Delta abode. When I was in town, Mom wandered over to hang with me two or three times a day. Usually, Mom held court on my porch, where we solved the problems of the world. We were laughing so hard about something one summer day on the porch that Mrs. Rowlette—who just happened to be driving by—pulled into my driveway and asked what was so funny. We invited her onto the sacred porch, where she laughed with us for the next hour. Mrs. Rowlette was not the first, nor was she the last, to find out what happened on the porch, stayed on the porch.
When the weather and temperature didn’t cooperate, this bigly chair by the bigly picture window at my place was Mom’s throne. Mom’s style needs no neckwear, although I’d give her the bowtie off my neck if she wanted it. And you can see where I got my basic fashion sensibilities, right?
Tie o’ the Day invaded my office in the loft a few minutes ago. I was busily doing the hunt-and-peck thing at my keyboard–writing money-making poetry, which doesn’t really make much money. And then much to my amusement, the scoundrel hopped up on the printer/copier to do what we’ve all done during office parties where the holiday punch was purposely spiked. Like each of us once did, Tie o’ the Day made copies of its butt! Yup, I did that once. Oops! (At least I did it before the internet, so I probably don’t have to be afraid copies will show up anywhere in my future.)
Perhaps I haven’t always been the best example for my ties and bow ties. But heck, that was way back in the 80’s. I have repented many times since then, for many 80’s things. And for the 90’s things. And for the 2000’s and 2010’s stuff too. As evidence of my contrition, I can show you dozens of pairs of my jeans where the knees are completely worn out from my dropping to my knees to pray for forgiveness for my various missteps.
Gee, all that repenting makes me sound like a not-so-perfect person. I guess we are all in that same sailboat, huh? And I guess our imperfection is the reason we are supposed to help each other move through the choppy waves of life. That’s what people are for. I’m gonna repeat something I’ve preached often: Things are meant to be used. People are meant to be loved. We’re supposed to keep that straight.
Paisley-adorned wood Bow Tie o’ the Day went with us on a Sunday outing for an “infrared massage.” Suzanne’s back had been pitching a fit all week because of her long days at work, so I ferreted around in my out-of-control gift card/coupon folder, and VOILA! Two gift cards for infrared massages popped up.
We had no idea what an infrared massage might be but we scheduled one anyway. As we were driving to our appointment, I said to Suzanne, “You know, it could be something a like a lampless sunlamp.” I was close.
We ended up brrrr-naked and enclosed in something like a long phone booth, in which wall panels put out intense heat. I believe we maxed out at somewhere around 165 degrees, for 40 minutes. It was a Sweat Lodge, but without steam.
We were able to program what our infrared massage was supposed to do for us. We choose the “anti-aging” setting. The heat really did feel great on our aches and pains, but we look just as old as before we spent our time in the Infrared Time Machine.
One thing really messed with my head while we were being heated up. We could program what music we listened to during the massage, and I went with a simple Pandora 80’s Rock station. Folks, I was fully conscious about music in the 80’s. I had a stereo, a Walkman, and an armband radio. I was ALWAYS listening to all kinds of music. I know my 80’s Rock. Pandora presented its version of 80’s Rock as if it was all Whitesnake, Guns N’ Roses, and Scorpions. Over and over and over. I WAS THERE! I know they weren’t the only three rock ‘n’ roll bands playing music during that decade. But Pandora made me doubt my own music memories. I kept thinking I must have been wrong. It must have been the heat.
A bunch of months ago, I managed to snag us a couple of tickets to a concert by THE NATIONAL that was somehow sold out before the tickets even went on sale, which meant the $20 tickets were selling for an exponentially pricey sum. I pried my frugal wallet open. We put the date in our calendars. And then we waited for the bigly day. The bigly day was yesterday, but Suzanne had to work to finish a project and couldn’t get away for an evening. I was going to the concert solo.
I thought of asking somebody to go with me. But I didn’t ask anyone. Secretly, I held out hope that at the last minute, Suzanne would be able to show up. I knew she wouldn’t, but my hope is stubborn. Outside the venue, I faced the facts. I finally asked if anybody needed a ticket. Ding, ding, ding. A winner emerged. Bye-bye, pricey ticket. Bye-bye, stubborn hope that Suzanne shows up.
Yup, it was just me and The Saddle Purse at the outdoor concert. Well, er, me and The Saddle Purse and around 9,000 other people. At the Ogden Amphitheater, there is bench seating for 2000 souls. There’s grass and standing room for about 7000 souls. No assigned seating. General Admission, folks. Bench seating, full. Bleacher seating, full. Grass, full. Bathrooms, full. You’d think that finding one seat for a person with no butt would be an easy feat. Nope. But The Saddle Purse and I finally wedged ourselves into a slice of a bleacher seat. (I could have shown up hours before the concert to stake out the highest seat, but ain’t nobody got time for that!)
The concert was a smash, even in the brief rain which fell. There was sort of a glitch in my experience though. I shall remember THE NATIONAL concert in Ogden forever. I’ll remember it because it was stupendous. And, more interestingly, I’ll remember it because it was the one and only concert I’ve ever attended without once seeing the band. Everybody in the audience stood for the duration of the concert. I’m short. That tells you all you need to know. You can’t fight height.
And still, I give the concert a thumbs-up. That “thumbs-up” means a lot, considering I saw no trace of the band. For all I know, the whole event was an elaborate hoax– a joke on me. The sound system might have been spinning music on vinyl, with no band there at all. I don’t care. I had a fantastic time.
