Category: Stories

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Rain, Rain, Don’t Rain On Albuquerque Tomorrow

Bow Tie o’ the Day is trying to keep me hopeful. It’s rained here the last two mornings, and I have a hot air balloon flight scheduled for early tomorrow morning. If there’s rain, there’s no flight.

I feel like I was duped into reserving my space in the balloon basket. Whenever I mentioned I was going to Albuquerque to anyone, they’d ask me if I was gonna do a balloon ride. I decided I should do it to see what all the hubbub is about. But I thought the kind of balloons they were talking about were like big balloon animals created by clowns. They’d be the size of horses and elephants, and I’d just throw a saddle on and head for the hills. I didn’t know they meant hot air balloons– kinda like the Hindenburg.

Okay, so I did really know what the balloon flight was all about. And I know that ABQ has a bigly hot air balloon festival every year, so balloon rides are part of the ABQ culture. But I thought you’d appreciate imagining clowns twisting balloons into large animals, and putting saddles on them.

I’ve never been a daredevil in terms of physical activities where you could maim yourself. I might be a clash fashion risk-taker, but I doubt I could break bones or decapitate myself with my fashion choices. I’m not an askeered person about death-defying adventures. I just know my limits and my likes.

I’m not antsy about tomorrow’s balloon flight. I’m not going to run out and up my life insurance or anything. However, I must admit that there is one tiny hole in my courage that kinda hopes it rains in the morning, so I can skip the ride without chickening out– and then I can whine to everyone about how disappointed I am that it was cancelled.

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And Icarus, To Boot

Bow Tie o’ the Day and Hat o’ the Day flapped their wings to fly us all the way to the hazy city of Los Angeles this morning. The flight crew was grateful for the help the attire provided, and our flight went swimmingly, as they say. (I don’t know why they say that.)

In these photos I am taking a break in the hotel lobby, just minding my own beeswax– la de da de da…. And then suddenly my head whipped around in a fit of paranoia and fear. The Hilton Los Angeles Airport conspiracy is on: $3 for a 20 oz. Diet Coke. I’m afraid. Very afraid. Suzanne and I will need to take out a second mortgage in order to support my cola habit for the weekend.

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Books You Can Hold, Crafts You Can Create, And Head Hairs You Can’t Tame

Bow Tie o’ the Day has a really, really, really double-tough challenge for you. Try to guess which store listed on the sign is the reason I drove to this block in Layton. As much as Suzanne likes BARNES & NOBLE, she is even more mesmerized by MICHAELS. I, however, am here solely for the books. Yes, this was an un-tough, un-challenging challenge. I gave you a rest from thinking too hard.

Check out the gang o’ hairs sticking out from over my left ear. I can’t wait until what used to be the shaved area of my crown is long enough for me to put it behind my ears. Now, my daily hairs rant is over.

And at this moment I’m headed to The Tie Room to pack neckwear into one suitcase for my L.A. trip and into another suitcase for my Albuquerque trip. Prepare for a week’s worth of posts from your friendly, clashing foreign correspondent.

BTW  I’m taking my funky swimming suit on BOTH trips, and I kinda want to wear it all week. With my cape. And with hats. And with bandanas. I’m thinking Suzanne might put her foot down about the cape. It’s bound to happen once. 👙

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I’m Being Sly

Bow Tie o’ the Day is assisting me in doing some subliminal pestering. In the two weeks since Suzanne created my eye-catching cape, this is the third post in which it appears. I’m hoping Suzanne will take this subtle hint that I want another cool cape ASAP. Oh, this cloak is snazzy enough to be in every post, but you know that is not at all how I roll. I don’t do singles of ritzy attire. I do bigly collections.

Right after Suzanne finished making this Cape o’ the Day, she said she’d get right to the job of making me another one. And then….. Well, she got distracted by making quilt tops, so I am selfishly trying to nudge her back toward making me capes –by wearing it whenever I get the chance and by posting it publicly. I would rather be manipulative about pulling her back into the cape-making biz than come off as nagging and pestering. Yes, I am attempting to subliminally maneuver Suzanne out of piecing together quilt tops and back into caping for yours truly.

Suzanne is not stoopid. She will see the cape over and over again in my post photos, and she will know exactly what I am hinting for her to do. She knows my tricks. She sees through every move I make. She sees through every move I will EVER make. But… when we return home from our week o’ adventure next Saturday, I won’t be surprised one bit to find Suzanne will suddenly feel the urge to make me another fancy-shmancy cape.

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I Care About Suzanne’s Ultimate SewingBox’s Feelings

While Suzanne was at work, The Ultimate SewingBox seemed lonely every time I glanced in its direction this afternoon. I figured dressing up its chair might convince it someone was sitting at it. Maybe The Ultimate SewingBox would be convinced it wasn’t alone.

My presence in the room is somehow not enough, even though I’m an actual person. The Ultimate SewingBox doesn’t dislike me, but it hasn’t taken to me. I think that’s because I don’t sit down at it and utilize its many cool features. I can’t appreciate it like Suzanne does, and it knows that fact.

I could tell Tie o’ the Day’s paisley did the trick. I swear I saw The Ultimate SewingBox begin to smile when it noticed the chair was “occupied.” It made an imaginary friend. And now, I will probably need to dress the chair each day, or The Ultimate SewingBox will be extra sad and lonely. It’s my own fault. I couldn’t stand its loneliness. I guess I started a daily tradition.

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Fear, Songs, And Foot-stompin’

Bow Tie o’ the Day is brand spankin’ fresh. It appeared in the mailbox just a few days ago. The only problem I personally have when wearing spider designs around my neck, is that I get the No Doubt song, “Spiderwebs” stuck in my head for a couple of days. I like the song, but there is no song in the universe wonderful enough that I can stand it to be repeated in my brain constantly for two days. Between the repetitions of “Spiderwebs,” sometimes my head throws in a few repetitions of No Doubt’s “Don’t Speak” and “I’m Just A Girl,” which are absolutely remarkable songs.

Suzanne has an issue with spiders, so she hasn’t seen Bow Tie in person yet. And I’ll make sure she doesn’t. This picture will be probably all she can tolerate. I guess she could just not look at me while I’m wearing any of my spider neckwear, but that would be almost impossible for her to do, since we actually live in the same house. And it’s not easy to not look at me, because of the hypnotic effect my blinding fashion choices create.

Now I’m not saying I have a love affair with spiders, but I must admit that I do like smashing the damn things when they cross my path. There’s something about the sound of that tiny spider-crunch under my shoe that puts a bigly smile on my face. That crunch makes me feel like a slayer o’ dragons, which makes me feel mighty tough.

And, of course, I always brag to Suzanne about my spider killings. It earns me points with her that I would do something she considers dangerous, in order to save her from what scares her. I rack up the goodwill points with each trophy spider I slay.  I hope it doesn’t make me an unethical spider hunter that we don’t eat what I kill. 🕸 👟 🕷

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All I Know Is That I Can Do This

Cufflinks o’ the Day can’t take their eyes off Bow Tie o’ the Day and Shirt o’ the Day. I think Cufflinks have a crush on the other two attire stars here. I was pleased I managed to introduce our Halloween black and orange to the Breast Cancer Awareness Month pink. I knew they would all hit it off.

I have never tried to be a matchmaker of people. And with clothing, I purposely strive to NOT match as many articles of any outfit as I can. That’s my style. Neither do I claim to be clairvoyant, but I do have an uncanny “gift” for knowing people. Specifically, I am almost perfectly accurate about couples who marry or live together. I can “see” which couples will stay together for the long haul. And I can “see” which couples do not have a chance in hell or heaven to stay coupled. I can “see” more about it than other people can.

I would never say anything to any couple whose future I “see.” I could be wrong about what comes to me, although I’ve mostly been right. And I don’t want to risk jinxing a relationship. I’ve had the same mostly accurate “sight” in AA rooms: I have a mostly accurate inkling of who’s gonna make it to sobriety and who isn’t.

I don’t try to “see” these things. They just occur to me. And I don’t treat people any differently than I would if I hadn’t glimpsed this stuff. In fact, this “gift” is something I would really rather not have. And I wonder this: Why do I have this ability? I believe gifts and talents have some kind of purpose. I believe they should be used for good purposes. But I can’t imagine what positive purpose my “seeing” stuff like this has. The only thing my “seeing” is to me is a bigly weight I carry. I carry the “gift” itself and the question of what I’m supposed to do with it. I have a hard time thinking it’s somehow just for me to know something about these things. I’m stumped. 🔮 👳‍♀️

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I Had To Get Out And Do Something On The Sabbath

Bow Tie o’ Yesterday and I had a bad day, even though we went to Sunday brunch AND made a foray to Home Depot. I was nauseous and in pokey pain, and I was in a crabby, crappy mood. But we determined to muddle though. We did what we did, and then when we got home, we weren’t up to posting.

We brunched at a restaurant called PORCH, a 40-minute drive away, in Daybreak. It was worth the drive. If you want grits or Johnny cakes, it’s your place. I can attest that their crawfish were delightful.

I wore my new designer cape to brunch. (Suzanne does good work, eh?) It was my first public wearin’ o’ the cape, and it seemed to be a hit. No one mistook it for a Halloween costume, and Suzanne wasn’t embarrassed to be seen with me in it. As I’ve mentioned before, she rarely has a problem with my fashion choices. She rarely bats an eye at any of my shenanigans. I have noticed, however, that she is increasingly concerned about my scraggled-up hairs. She is beginning to not walk close to me because of them. She is on the verge of being embarrassed by my mop. I can’t blame her. I don’t want to be seen in its company either right now. But we must remember: Beauty is a process sometimes. We must trudge through the ugly parts, to arrive at our beauty destination.

Sometimes we must even trudge through the sneeze, as you can see I had to. I wanted you to see the photo of me doing just that. I’m glad Suzanne snapped the pic right before the sneeze, so I could see how I look when I achoo. I have always wondered about that. I wonder about odd things. It keeps me young.

Mostly, I included more than one photo because I felt like showing off my Suzanne-made cape again and again and again. I am bragging about her handiwork, as much as I am bragging about how breathtaking I look when I’m wearing it. 😸

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Mom And I Ain’t Askeered

Bow Tie o’ the Day is one of my favorites to wear. I have a grand time showing off my novelty neckwear– like my Skittles bow tie, or my wood mustache bow ties, or my Band-aid tie. But I never tire of a simply beautiful, colorful tie of any type.

Paisley is probably my fave design pattern, so I tend to collect ties with paisles (my word) on them. Polka dots are fabulous too. But when I’m cremated, I guarantee I will be wearing one of my paisley bow ties. I have given that instruction to Suzanne already. At some point, I will need to designate which bow tie it will be, but I’m not thinking about it yet. Hey, I’m not dwelling on dying. I don’t expect to do it soon. (Knock on wood.) And my surgery probably bought me a decade more than if I hadn’t had it. (Knock on wood again.)

I can’t deny death has been on my mind the last few years. I figured my Hanky Panky would take me out of the game long before we could do anything about the dang organ. But mostly, it’s Mom who has had me thinking about death. Her death.

Even before she broke her hip last year and things have kinda headed downhill for her health-wise, Mom would occasionally say to me– out of the blue– things like, “Write this down. I want so-and-so to speak at my funeral.” Or, “Here. I want this picture on my funeral program.” She’s also been giving away her possessions for a few years. She’s been downsizing. I guess you could consider that to be a way of unpacking her baggage for her next, last trip. We all travel light when we die.

I think that since Dad died, in 2007, she has been making her peace with the end of her turn on the planet. She certainly has never stopped living a loud life, but she hasn’t been shy about talking with me about her death. She is not afraid of it. And I have heard her say a few choice words to Dad about getting off his lazy butt and climbing out of his grave– so obviously she can joke about it. But ultimately, Mom is very clear that she is not done here yet. Yay!

Personally, I think Mom is one of the Three Nephites (Mormon reference), so she’ll never die. She’ll just wander around in her housecoat doing good deeds, for time and all eternity.

I’m cool with that.

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I’m Growing It As Fast As I Can

Bow Tie o’ the Day has been overhearing an ongoing– though not constant– “argument” between me and Suzanne. It seems Suzanne is not at all happy with me growing out my hair. This photo makes a good case for her side of the “argument.” She is no longer happy looking at my not-pretty hairs. And she is tired of me wearing hats and bandanas to disguise its awkwardness.

Suzanne has even threatened to take over my posts and beg y’all to rescind your grow-out-your-hair votes. Her protestations have not swayed me from pursuing my goal, and she thinks yours might. Nope. I am committed to growing out my all my hairs for one last time in my life. I will not be dissuaded.

I do have a slight fear that she will reach her absolute limit of patience with my hairs, and I will get out of bed one morning to find my hairs have been hacked off during the night, while I peacefully slept and dreamed of my eventual long, sexy mane. And that would be a double whammy for me. I’d have no longish hairs AND I’d have to change the sheets before I took a nap. 💇