Category: Ties

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The Pendulum Is Stuck

Ties o’ the Day display some mighty clever snowbeings.  The cleverest, in my opinion, is the snowman from England in the 16th Century. A clean beheading is always a festive thing. LA’s breasticled snowgal is a close second fave of mine.

Sorry my text has been absent in the last few posts. Remember all that blah, blah, blah I wrote last week about my current bipolarity vacation in the familiar territory of Depressionville? Well, it’s got me wordless. Even TIE O’ THE DAY can’t seem to get me yammer-writing tales or tidbits so I can write a proper post. The yammer will come back. It always does. Might be this afternoon. Might be who-knows-how long. No worries, though. I know my bipolarity’s tricks, and I always eventually whoop its ass.

I hope you’re still enjoying the holiday neckwear. My ties make me proud. I guess I’ve raised ’em right.

HOLIDAY TIE TALLY: 44 Bow ties. 95 Neckties.

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Ties Help Me Tell My Stories

Pieces of neckwear can act like a trail of clues, as mine are doing this afternoon.

I wrote in my earlier post that I had woken up on the wrong side of my bipolarity this morning, so I wasn’t feeling quite right in the noggin. After I posted, I realized I hadn’t made it clear which side of the bipolarity I woke up on. Well, it was the depressive side of the pendulum.

As of this moment, I’m moving farther and farther to that side of my crazy head. I know how my bipolar cycles work, so I know what to expect. Because of that, I don’t usually panic about the depression. So far, it has always passed. The pendulum always swings back to the middle. And then it swings to one extreme or the other again. There is no rhyme or reason to when the pendulum moves, which way it moves, or how long it will hover when it stops to taunt me.

Anyhoo… Bow Tie o’ the Day and kitty Tie o’ the Day are based on the movie BAD SANTA. I’ve never seen the movie. I tried to watch it, but drifted off in bored disgust. It was rank. I chose to wear these pieces of neckwear today because of my mood, which is dark, bad, mean, annoyed, impatient, paralyzed, weary, hopeless…….  It really is okay though, because I understand what’s going on. Even when it’s scary, I know it will pass. My mood will change.

Sometimes creating TIE O’ THE DAY gets me through a tough day: it provides me a purpose, when I don’t feel like I have one. I try to be disciplined about posting twice per day. If I do that, at the end of a day when I feel like a waste of soul-space, I can tell myself I accomplished something– however tiny a feat it might be.

CHRISTMAS VACATION Tie o’ the Day is the clue that tells you I was thinking it might be a good idea– in light of my below-down mood– to go in for some electroshock therapy. If it’s good enough for Clark Griswold, it’s good enough for me.

Rockin’ Tie o’ the Day is what I’m doing right now to try to bring my mood up a level or two. I’m in my loft writing, and listening to music: MUMFORD AND SONS’ recent release, BAND OF HORSES’ everything, and KACEY MUSGRAVES’ Christmas cd. So far that’s my playlist this afternoon. Music helps me deal with whichever extreme I’m feeling in my bipolarity, but I have to be mindful of what kind of music I choose during any given mood. Cranking up Hank Williams’ (Sr.) heartbreak songs is not conducive to moving out of depression. And listening to heavy metal is absolutely the wrong antidote for mania.

So far I’ve been able to successfully manage my bipolarity. I mean, I am still alive and kickin’. Knock on wood. Being alive is success. I am fully aware that my head disease can– and probably will– advance as I age. That doesn’t terrify me. I don’t know why it doesn’t, but it doesn’t. I am right here, right now. My ties surf my moods with me, always protecting me from ennui and danger. They’ve got my back. Actually, I guess they have my front, eh?

HOLIDAY TIE TALLY: 35 Bow Ties. 89 Neckties.

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Some Days Are Like That

I woke up on the wrong side of the proverbial bed this morning. I woke up on the wrong side of my bipolar head. I thought achieving the amazingly high level of clash fashion you see in this photo would certainly buoy my brain a bit. It did not. Even my first Christmas Jacket o’ the Day, combined with Bow Tie o’ the Day and Three Ties o’ the Day, hasn’t roused my story-telling spirit.

Be ye not afraid. It will pass. It always does. I’ve been through this before, and I’ve written about it before. I’ll again encounter this feeling a thousand times in the future, and I’ll write about it here that same thousand times. Lucky you!

It’s all good. I’m what is is known as a rapid-cycler, in terms of bipolarity. My mood will switch soon. I’ll get jolly in the twinkling of an eye.

HOLIDAY TIE TALLY: 34 Bow ties. 86 Neckties.

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And Then Another Thing Got In The Way Of The Lost Post

I’ve managed to retrieve parts of the post that ran away from me this morning, so I’m re-composing the bits and pieces of it I’ve scooped up off the information superhighway to Hell. I still have no idea what computer key I touched that made my writing disappear. I’d like to know, so I don’t touch it again. Eventually though, I’ll re-create the entire post, but this post isn’t it. I was, in fact, working on it, and then it was time to pick up Suzanne for lunch. I completely intended to return home after lunch and salvage my little lost story.

So I fetched Suzanne, and she scarfed down her yogurt in the car. She and I decided we would spend the rest of her lunch hour whispering as loudly as possible in the Davis County Library in Farmington, a mere two blocks from her office. As I stepped from the library parking lot onto the sidewalk… OMHorribleGolly! A boys,’ black, clip-on tie! Dead! In the snow!

TIE-PHER IN THE SNOW! Oh, no! No ho-ho-ho! TIE-PHER IN THE SNOW!

This is a first for TIE O’ THE DAY: Dead Tie o’ the Day.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking I staged this. You’re thinking this is like all the other stunts I’ve helped my ties pull off– things like bow ties hanging from the chandelier, or hiding in the refrigerator, or swimming with a manta ray. No. Not this time. This scene, my friends, is absolutely real. All I did was see it, point my phone, and snap. (Besides, would I even own a tie this bland?)

I ask you: How many dead ties are layin’ around in the snow, anywhere on the face of the planet? Not many, that’s for sure. How many of those rare dead-tie-in-the-snow carcasses are in Farmington, Utah at the Davis County Library (a building I’ve never visited before) at 12:13 PM on December 5, 2018? These things don’t grow on trees. It is downright beyond-coincidental that I– an eccentric woman with a website starring ties– was the one person to find this pathetic tie’s lifeless shell, and send it lovingly to its eternal rest. Serendipity? Kismet? Dumb luck? I am mystified by the circumstances of our meeting, but I’m honored to have been the one to be there to take care of this sad affair.

Rest in peace, anonymous Tie o’ the Day. Rest in peace, Little Tie o’ the Day Doe.

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A Likely Story

So here’s the thing: I wrote a dandy, regular-size post this morning, but I touched some key that sent it out into cyberspace nether worlds. I’m still doing some spelunking to find it, but I have no idea whether or not I’ll be able to successfully recover it. I know y’all can’t go without your TIE O’ THE DAY morning fix so here’s the photo, with nary a story to accompany it. (Except for the story I just told you about losing the story.)

For your viewing pleasure: Star of David Bow Tie o’ the Day, for Hanukkah. Christmas tree Bow Tie o’ the Day. Christmas tree ornaments Tie o’ the Day.

HOLIDAY TIE TALLY: 33 Bow ties. 83 Neckties.

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Dad’s Off Playing With His Dogs In Heaven

Santa-hatted canines abound, covering Bow Tie o’ the Day and Ties o’ the Day. Dad was not just a bee guy. He was not just a holder of any nearby baby. My late dad was also a dog man.

Especially after Dad semi-retired, he was always seen with a mutt companion riding in the back of his truck. He was partial to Labrador Retrievers, like the one here wrapped up in a string of Christmas lights. This Golden Lab resembles the last few dogs Dad had in his life. He had only one dog at a time, but somehow the dogs all looked exactly alike.

Seriously, Dad’s dogs didn’t look alike in the sense of being of the same breed. Nope. They just all looked alike. Exactly alike.  And I mean, exactly. Dad inadvertently made it even more complicated for us to keep the dogs straight in our memories because he named his dogs the same names. If the dog was a female, he named it Becky. If it was a male, he named it Bert. I guess by the time Dad was choosing the dogs of his later years, he didn’t want to be bothered to remember new names. I do think he’s the only person who truly knew the separate souls of each of his clone-like mutts.

I’m glad Dad knew I was a baby, and not a puppy, when I was born. He would have named me Becky. Instead, he named me Helen Eileen (see that story in an earlier post). I suppose you could say I was kind of Dad’s puppy for the first six months of my life, though. Mom went through Hell giving birth to me and she was not well enough to mother me for a few months, so my dad was also my mom. (The original MR. MOM?)

My sisters helped take care of me. My grandparents helped. But mostly, I was in Dad’s arms. As I understand it, I spent a lot of time cooing and crying and napping in his bee truck while he worked in the bee yards– from Richfield to St. George to Payson to Heber and back to Delta again.

To hear Mom tell it, Dad was so concerned about her health, and he treated her with such tenderness that he wouldn’t even allow her to lift a finger to change my diaper for the first six months of my life. Now that’s probably a bigly bit of an exaggeration. It’s likely a tall tale. But Dad was tall, and many tales have been told about him. He was mythical in his own way, imperfections and all. Dad was not perfect, but he was perfectly Dad. In his way, he was a true myth I know by heart.

HOLIDAY TIE TALLY: 31 Bow ties. 82 Neckties.

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My Dad, King O’ All Deer Hunters!

Here’s a photo of a handsome tieless chap, along with The Three Wise-Deer o’ Ties o’ the Day. (Try saying that three times quickly.) Each tie deer has chosen to show its individuality with its own Christmas flair: a bow tie, or a red nose, or a wreath. Yup, that’s my dad as a boy, but he never killed a deer if it was wearing a holiday fashion accent.

Eleven years ago this morning, Ronald Edmond Wright died. He was 77, and he was my Dad. My dad. He wasn’t “Father,” “Daddy,” “Pop,” or “Pa.” He’s “Dad.” In this photo, he’s probably around 12, and he’s standing on his family’s front porch. (Yes, this is THE porch. He grew up in this house, which I eventually bought, and which I sold last year.)

Dad was a beekeeper by trade. He was also a brick mason. He was not a man of many words out in the world, but he was a master joke teller anywhere. The same jokes, over and over. But they were hilarious every time. He could tell compelling stories when he wanted to. Of course, he was a talker with us.

Dad was also a sly and energetic coyote hunter. He hunted every critter you can hunt, but nothing thrilled him as much as hunting coyotes. He woke before dawn, and EVERY morning he rode around the county on his perpetual coyote hunt.

When I was thinking of what to write about Dad in this post, I decided on a couple of incidents that most people probably have never heard about. Dad was quiet about them. Dad was not a braggart. When he told me the stories, I was amazed by his quiet decency and grace. He could make a point someone needed to learn, without exposing them to their friends and family.

[Since the place he lived his life, Delta, is a small town, I will be vague about details, and I will not mention names. In order to protect the guilty.]

Story #1. One night, Dad saw a guy steal a piece of his equipment from the property behind our house. It was a bigly piece of equipment that had to be loaded onto a trailer to be moved. Dad let it happen, to avoid us seeing a confrontation in our yard.

Everybody knows everybody in Delta, so Dad knew the guy. Therefore, Dad knew where his equipment would end up. The next day, when he knew the dude would be where the equipment was, Dad drove out and stole it back right in front of the guy, without saying one word to him. The guy just watched as Dad drove away with his rightful property. The cops weren’t called, but justice was served. The guy felt properly shitty about what he’d done. No need for an arrest. Dad humbled the man, but not in public or in front of his family. The point was made. The incident was put aside. Dad and the guy stayed friends.

Story #2. Dad noticed some of his hay was missing, and it kept going missing. (Poor Dad. Everybody stole from him.) Dad kept a closer eye on the hay bales and soon saw the culprit in action. Again, in a small town you know everybody, so Dad knew the dude. Dad knew the guy had a big family and a crappy job. On the side, the guy used his horses to do some other work, to bring more in money for his family. Because of that, the man needed to keep his horses, even though he couldn’t always afford to feed them. Dad realized why the guy had stolen the hay: need and pride.

Again, Dad didn’t call the cops. Dad didn’t embarrass the guy in front of his family or in public. But Dad wouldn’t let the guy keep stealing hay from him. Ain’t nobody gonna steal from Ron Wright. Nope. So Dad threw a couple of bales of hay in his truck, drove to the guy’s horse corral, and told the guy he thought the guy might need some hay for his horses. Dad said nothing about the stolen hay, got back in his truck, and drove away. And then Dad continued to drop off a bale of hay occasionally at the guy’s corral. Point made. And Dad reformed a thief.

Wise moves, Dad. [More Dad stuff next post.]

HOLIDAY TIE TALLY: 30 Bow ties. 80 Neckties.

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If A Christmas Tree Fell On A Beach…

A trio o’ palm tree Ties o’ the Day express my current weather sentiments. I woke up to 4 inches of snow this morning and I immediately yearned to head south to beachier climes. This winter has been relatively warm and considerably free of snow and ice so far. Its mildness has spoiled me. It’s been downright unseasonable, which suits me just fine.

Honestly, the first thing I thought when I spied the thick layer of snow on the lawn was POOR SKITTER. Her pencil-thin legs will have to walk in the burr-cold snow. At least she has a coat and hat. But what if her butt hits the freezing snow while she’s trying to pee? And what if it’s super-freezing enough that her butt sticks to the packed snow– like tongue-to-flagpole in A CHRISTMAS STORY? That would be horrible for Skitter and her butt. Peeing in the winter would be one more thing she is afraid of.

And what was the second thing I thought while looking at the white yard? I thought: I am so happy that we live in a development with a Home Owners Association in charge of dealing with our snow, so we never have to touch a snow shovel or snow blower again. I have shoveled enough snow for myself and for my neighbors wherever I lived over the decades that I am completely content with sitting in the recliner and watching other people do the job. I don’t feel one bit guilty about watching it. But I feel guilty about not feeling guilty.

HOLIDAY TIE TALLY: 30 Bow ties. 77 Neckties.

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Sad Trees Give So Much Joy

After we shaved the lamp legs decor this morning, Bow Tie o’ the Day and Tie o’ the Day told me it was time to break out the Chuck Brown Xmas trees. We have Chuck trees in three sizes, for placement in various locations throughout the house.

The middle tree– the smallest– is named The Pub Tree, because every Christmas season, I put it on the window ledge by “our” table at The Pub in Delta. (Note the football ornament on the tiny tree.) My Sister Who Wishes To Remain Nameless and I decorated festively around our tree, but the tree was always the centerpiece of whatever window scene we constructed. I miss The Pub, my SWWTRN, and I miss decorating “our” Pub window for holidays.

The tree with the HO’s in it (I loved writing that) plays the Chuck Brown theme song music. When it plays, I “dance” to the music the same way the characters in the Chuck tv specials dance– which means I move my head forward and back, over and over. Eventually I get a neck ache and the song gets annoying. After a couple of hours, the music box battery finally dies, so I can stop dancing. So then I take two aspirin, put on a neck brace, and make a mental note to never put a battery in the music box again.

Yeah, I know I could just push the OFF button on the tree’s music at any time before all the pain and annoyance begins. But then I wouldn’t have a dramatic (sort of) story to tell about how harrowing it is to head-dance to the Charlie Brown theme song for the duration of a battery’s life.

Doing such a thing is an example of doing something for the sole purpose of saying you did. Hint: Doing something for the sole purpose of saying you did is rarely a good reason to do it. Which is why the truth is that I hit the OFF button on the tree’s music after about thirty seconds, so there’s still a bigly amount of juice in the battery with which to regale visitors. I’m sure they’ll want to boogie along too. And I have plenty o’ aspirin, and a neck brace if anyone needs it.

HOLIDAY TIE TALLY: 28 Bow ties. 74 Neckties.