Month: August 2018

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I Get Away With So Much Tomfoolery

Bow Tie o’ the Day and I picked up Suzanne from work and headed off to the park for the duration of her lunch break. She ate her usual mid-day meal: string cheese and yogurt. I occasionally eat a banana at the park, but most of the time I just chug my Diet Coke. Today, I chugged it while wearing Skitter’s new sombrero.

When Skitter gets new hats, of course I have to test drive them. I try out all her new hats before she wears them. I mean– there could be some obscure hat-safety issue: some defect o’ the hat, which would make it unsafe for my beloved pup to wear it on her head. So you see, I bravely face danger by test-wearing Skitter’s stuff– to ensure her dapper fashion safety. That’s my excuse for wearing Skitter’s hats, and I’m sticking to it.

Suzanne is a good sport when it comes to my clash fashion choices (including dog hats) and my overall eccentric behavior. She puts up with my antics, unconditionally. At home or in public, she is neither fazed nor embarrassed by my fashion sensibilities and/or my hijinks. She has never once tried to tame my imagination. She takes it in stride. She never rolls her eyes at what I wear or what I say. Heck, that’s amazing because even I roll my eyes at my shenanigans sometimes. Suzanne is so even-keeled about my behavior that I sometimes wonder if she even notices me at all. All I know is that she has never once forbidden me from doing my thing– so I keep on truckin’.

Only one time have I ever forbidden Suzanne from wearing something. She bought a new dress off the Dillard’s clearance rack. It looked fine on the hanger, but it did not work on an actual woman. It wasn’t just Suzanne who couldn’t pull it off. After seeing it on her, I realized it would have been wrong on any woman. Anyhoo… There she was in her new dress. She was primped and dressed and ready to leave for work when I saw her in it, and I said, “You are not leaving the house in that dress! It looks frumpy. It makes you look like a school teacher!” Of course, Suzanne was a school teacher at the time. We all appreciate our teachers, but you know the exact image of a frumpy school teacher I’m talkin’ about. That look ain’t gonna happen for Suzanne on my watch.

When I dropped off the aforementioned maladjusted dress at Deseret Industries, I actually felt like I should apologize for donating it. 👗

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Been There, Done That, Seen That

I have seen the sun set over the Atlantic Ocean, from a castle turret on a hill on the west coast of Ireland. I have driven down Main Street in Delta, UT with a wind-blown tumbleweed the size of a Christmas tree stuck in the front grill of my car. I have mooned. I have streaked. I have sat naked in a lawn chair at a nude beach in Rehoboth, Delaware. I have canoed on the Potomac River while eating sushi.

In honor of the craziness of the Delta Fourth of July chairs-on-main-street-for-days custom, I have set up lawn chairs– and tied them together– on the side of the road in front of the Delta house, to create a fake 4th of July parade route, complete with horse poop and saltwater taffy scattered in the road. And Mom and I have sat in those lawn chairs, waiting for the parade that never came– just so people could see us and wonder. (And a parade did come by once. Story to be told later.)

I have drunk shots of pepper vodka on a picnic blanket, at an Allison Krauss concert, on the grass in front of the Washington Monument. I have driven in the West Desert for hours at night, with my lights off, while listening to music no one’s ever heard of. I have been trapped in a stuck elevator. I have played arcade games along the Jersey Shore. I have been to Six Flags amusement parks in three different states. I have returned a lost wallet.

I have taught every type of writing class they offer at The University of Utah and at Salt Lake Community College. I have led book groups for inmates at the Utah State Prison. I have taught writing in a middle school in inner-city Baltimore. I have twice run the Georgetown 10K in D.C. while drunk. I have seen Dad catch fish bare-handed. I have spent 24 hours in Boston, and I saw everything there was to see. I have seen over 100 concerts in my life. I have ice skated all the way across the Reservoir and back. I have had 2/3 of my pancreas hacked away. I have seen a jackalope and a chupacabra in the same night.

But the one thing I have not experienced until now is an event called FLANNELRAMA at JOANN’s.

Bow Tie o’ the Day and I have now seen and done everything. 😜

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Walker?! I Hardly Knew ‘Er!

Bow Tie o’ the Day traipsed all over Centerville on a pleasant walk with us. Okay, we didn’t walk all over Centerville. We actually walked about 16 blocks. Well… it was 8 blocks each way, but 16 blocks sounds like I went infinitely far. It was the longest walk I’ve done since late June, so I’ll pat myself on the back once or twice for doing it even though I can throw a baseball farther than I can walk right now.

We got a couple of blocks from home, then Suzanne said, “Whenever you need to turn back, just tell me.” After that, at the end of each block, she said the same thing. I kept girding up my tweaking insides and saying we should go one more block, every block. After the eighth block, I could feel I had walked too far. And I knew I had to walk the same distance back! I let my pride keep me pretending I was fine. But I really felt like the Primary song in which the “Pioneer children sang as they walked, and walked, and walked, and walked.” And even a few more “and walked”‘s.

Finally, I had to sit on a curb and rest a minute. But was I going to say I was out of oomph and in pain, and tell Suzanne to go get the car while I wait right here? Hell, no! I found the curb spot where I took this photo, and I sat down and said, “Oh, let’s stop here a minute. This crosswalk will make a fine TIE O’ THE DAY picture.” I didn’t mention my physical predicament to Suzanne at all. I just sat on the curb, got my iPhone out and shot a bunch of selfies, then looked through them and said, “Those didn’t quite work the way I wanted them to, so I better shoot a few more.” And then I did that again and again, until I felt rested enough to walk home. It worked. Suzanne didn’t catch on to my deceitful trick. I got to say I went on a longish (for me) walk, and Suzanne’s happy and proud of me because she thinks I’m getting my stamina back.

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Having A Thought, I Am Not

Bow Tie o’ the Day and I can’t think of anything to write about this morning. We haven’t done anything yet, and we have no plans to do anything later. Our schedule is wide open. There are no errands needing to be done. The house is clean. Laundry’s done. (That laundry thing was a lie, but we don’t want to do it.) And for some reason, we aren’t even having opinions about anything. And there are no stories in our heads. What do we say here? How do we write this post, with nary a topic to write about?

I have no doubt you’re thinking we should just skip a post or two and give y’all a break. Nope. It ain’t our style. You know the “not post” thing is not gonna happen. Right now, in fact, as I’m typing away, I’m thinking maybe I should just see how long a “there’s-nothing-here” post I can write. I’m a writer, so I should be able to bs about nothing whatsoever for a while. I can treat it like a writing exercise– you know. Just treat it like a challenge for my abilities: jabber about nothing. And that would be all well and good, except that no matter how much “nothing” anyone writes about, the sentences are always about something. I mean– sentences have nouns and verbs and all types of other words, and you can’t have a noun without the rest of the sentence saying something about it. It’s the same with a sentence’s verbs and its other words. Every word is about something. So nobody can ever write about nothing, really. In fact, you’ve just read over 250 words that are pretty much about nothing– except they are also about me trying to write bs. I hope you don’t feel like reading this was a waste your time. There. You’ve now read 320 words. About nothing and something at the same time.

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Skitter Is Less Skittish After 4 Years With Us

It doesn’t bother me that Bow Tie o’ the Day and Skitter and I are all blurred up in this photo. I like looking at it. Skitter is always learning to love and be loved, but it’s not an easy thing for her. Giving me a huge kiss like this is just another big progression in Skitter’s life as a dog. When we rescued her, she was almost a year old, but she hadn’t yet learned how to be a dog. She had been so abused by her previous “people”– if you can call them that– that all she knew how to do was shake, shiver, and crouch in fear. She was a long-legged, curled up, cowering ball. She wouldn’t make eye contact with us. She tried to be invisible, afraid someone would notice her and cause her pain.

The late, great Roxy– fattest mini dachshund ever– was still with us when we got Skitter, and Roxy taught her how to be a real dog. Skitter didn’t make a sound for the first six months she lived with us, but Roxy taught her to bark. Skitter didn’t know how to eat if anyone could possibly see her, but Roxy taught her to take the food out of her dish and drop it right in the middle of the living room floor, to eat for all to see. And Roxy taught Skitter to beg for people food. You know– dog stuff like that.

And then Roxy left us last December, so now it’s all up to me to teach Skitter the dog life. And the bow tie life. She’s getting better at both, a little bit at a time.

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Still Back. Fall’s Coming. And A Bigger TV.

After I felt like I was pretty much back to my fashion self yesterday, I worried it would be a one-day thing and then I’d wake up today feeling plain again. But no. I’m a happy clam, clash-fashion wise. In fact, I wish I had a clam bow tie to wear as a metaphor for my happiness. But I don’t. I did find this bubbly Bow Tie o’ the Day, and it’s a happy-looking one. Plus, I’m wearing yet another shirt as a cape. I think I’ve got my groove back. For luck, I’m crossing what’s left of my pancreas.

I don’t know how chilly it was outside your house this morning, but it was a bit frigid outside mine. Right now I’m wearing jeans, which I try not to do until at least October. Love me my shorts. But it’ll toast up later today, so I can change into a pair of shorts, and maybe take a dip in the pool.

Fall is my fave season, so I’m not dreading it. I’m just not ready for it to be knocking at my deck’s sliding doors just yet. There’s no stopping the jeans and long-sleeve shirts from worming their way onto my Fall/Winter clothing carousel. And you are well aware what my wearing long-sleeve button-down shirts means: Cufflinks o’ the Day! They’ll soon be crawling out of their storage cases.  More clever/glitzy ‘links have been acquired for your viewing pleasure.

Speaking of viewing pleasure, it is finally necessary for us to adopt a larger TV into our family. Honestly, it’s our eyes that have turned wanting a new TV into needing a new TV . I guess our 54-year-old eyes made the decision for us. We can no longer read written words that show up on the screen as part of the programs. Not on our current picture boxes.

Although the TV will benefit Suzanne and I both. It’ll benefit me more. Turning on a television is a prescription I write and fill for myself. I have the TV on all day, whether I’m seriously watching it or not. When you’re bipolar, it helps for you to find “tricks”– in combination with medications and therapy– that work for you. I’ve had to find my own particular strategies to keep me level and centered. I have a slew of other “trick” arrows in my coping skills quiver, but having the TV on during all my awake hours is one of the most effective tricks for my head.

For me, television is like a soundtrack playing in the background. It helps the manic thinking in my bipolar head get just distracted enough to keep me from thinking my way into a dark abyss. When I am manic, I listen to the “soundtrack” while I’m doing housewife work. Focusing only on the audio– following the program’s narrative–keeps my head busy, while still being able to accomplish something around the house.

Listening to TV shows when I’m manic works better for me than listening to music. Songs are short– both musically and lyrically– and their rapid movement from one song  to the next to the next, etc., can push me further into mania. When I’m on the depressive side, I lower the tv volume and the soundtrack becomes “white noise.” I can hear the TV, but it kinda isn’t there. The low background noise can keep me settled enough to write. Whenever my mood finds its middle level, the music can begin. And I can crank it up!

BTW  JUDGE JUDY and HOMICIDE HUNTER are definitely a different TV matter: Rain or shine, manic or depressive –for those shows, I sit at attention, watching and listening to every moment. Don’t call or text me when these programs are on. Don’t even knock on my door. I might love you, but I will not answer the the phone, a text, or the door when I’m with Judy or Joe. 📺

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My Clash Muscle Is Getting Back In Shape

I think National Bow Tie Day kicked me in my clash this afternoon, prompting me to clash up mightily with Bow Tie o’ The Day, a green-black-and-gray tank, a pink monkey bandana, and a plaid orange-blue-and-lighter-blue  button-down shirt– which I wore as my cape. Oh, it felt fantabulous to be back in my normal fashion! Ah, the exuberance I’m experiencing! I’ve missed my wild attire.

And did I mention my shirt-cape? I know I did, but I wanted to emphasize its snazziness by typing CAPE again. And there I did it again. Suzanne keeps promising to make me a real cape, but so far it ain’t happened. I think the homemade cape is like the skirt made out of ties which she said she was gonna make for herself, back in 1986. She finishes almost all her projects, except for a handful that never quite seem to even get started. I know she did find a pattern for a cape for me about a decade ago. I’m sure it’s somewhere. Maybe she’ll find it when she starts putting stuff in her Ultimate SewingBox– which will be assembled as soon as we return from vacation. (Neckwear and I will photo that process for y’all.)

As much as I enjoy clashing, I’m surprised that surgery could make me feel so-so about it. Usually, I leap out of bed when I awake, and I immediately get myself outrageously garbed up. Even before I brush my dentures. But since surgery, I’ve been kinda blah about it. I knew I would feel like that for the first couple of weeks, but the dull-osity kept hanging on. I know it was just exhaustion from my body healing that was keeping me from dressing like myself, but I’m surprised it has dragged on for two months. Oh, I’ve had days here and there that I’ve dressed in my loud fashion. But mostly, I’ve worn lazy fashion– with only tiny bits o’ clash involved.

I don’t think it’s a coincidence that I began to feel this clash energy really surge on the exact same day as National Bow Tie Day. I don’t believe in coincidences for the most part. Nope, I think that my personal fashion muscle has flexed itself because of my eternal and mysterious connection with my bow ties– and, therefore, with my bow ties’ annual day o’ honor.

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O, Special Night

Bow Tie o’ Last Evening brought it’s steampunk gears along to Vertical Diner in SLC for a triple celebration of sorts. First, it was Monday, which is Homely Family Evening– as I call it. Second, we honored Rowan for his 21st birthday. He’s officially a Toddler Man. (When he turned 18, he became a Baby Man.) And third, we celebrated National Bow Tie Day Eve. What an exciting time for us all!

We have to choose eating establishments carefully when we take Rowan out for eats, because he is a vegan. He became a vegetarian a few years ago, and that turned into his becoming a vegan. Not all restaurants serve vegan food. Vertical Diner is a perfect choice for Rowan’s food proclivity because every item on the menu is vegan. Of course, that also means there are no items for me, since I am a confirmed meat-eater. Oh well. It was a sacrifice I gladly made for Rowan’s birthday dinner. Suzanne and I had meatless taco salads, and Rowan ate a Philly cheesesteak sandwich. I don’t know what the “steak” was made of, nor do I know what the  vegan “cheese” really was. I find it’s better for me if I don’t ask questions about it. (Vertical Diner does not offer Diet Coke/Diet Pepsi– or even the non-diet versions. What animal do they come from that makes them not vegan?”)

I’m sure you’re asking, “What’s the difference between ‘vegetarian’ and ‘vegan’?” The short, simple answer is this: Vegetarians don’t eat animals, but may eat products that come from animals– like dairy and eggs. Vegans, on the other hand, do not eat animals AND they do not eat products that come from animals.

I’m fine about people eating whatever type of diet they feel good about. I don’t mock it. But I am clearly an omnivore. And personally, I think if you want to eat a piece of bacon, eat a piece of bacon. I don’t understand the eating of “fake” bacon– plant bacon. That’s just me. However, I’m extremely proud of Rowan for being committed to his principles.

As I mentioned earlier, it was also National Bow Tie Day Eve. I was so excited about today being National Bow Tie Day that I couldn’t get to sleep at all last night. The anticipation was filling my head. To celebrate this fine day, I’m loading all the bow ties into the bed of my Hombre, and taking them to Lagoon to play– on their very own speshul day. Wish me luck keeping track of the herd. 🤡

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It Might Sound Trivial, But It’s Still Sadder Than Sad

I picked up Suzanne for her lunch break today, and I chose houndstooth floppy Bow Tie o’ the Day for the occasion. She was pleased because I kind of matched, with the coupling of Bow Tie and my black, square-collared tank. I apologize that the tank’s gray stripes aren’t visible in this photo. Suzanne likes the clashy fashion I concoct. She also likes that sometimes I match, although we both know that if I’m matchy, it was most likely by accident. I admit my authentic fashion sense was lazy today as far as clash goes. In fact, since my surgery at the end of June, I have matched too often for my taste. I’ve been too exhausted to dress the way I like. But I’m getting my stamina back, so I’m getting my clash back– slowly but surely.

Lately, we’ve spent Suzanne’s lunch time at a park where there is a municipal outdoor swimming pool– complete with water slides. It’s full and loud all summer. At the pool– and everywhere we go really– Suzanne and I have made people-watching almost a sport. We enjoy it immensely. Sometimes we’ll see people who look/act so interesting that we make up stories about their lives, explaining how they became their “interesting” selves. Storytelling at its best.

Anyhoo… There are definitely a host of sad things all around us. An outdoor swimming pool that’s closed for the season is one of those sad things. Hundreds of kids laughing and yelling and splashing and getting along is a wonderful, optimistic thing to see and hear. That much play and joy in one place is a remarkable and uplifting sight. I hope they do winter things that allow them to lose themselves in communal joy.

I have this theory that if we could all take a swim together in a pool, the world’s populations would be less combative. It’s difficult to plan destruction and cruelty when you’re playing in a swimming pool. Just try it.

When you find yourself getting short-tempered about something– or towards someone– take your kid, or grandkid, or any kid you know– to take a dip in the pool with you. I defy you to stay ticked off and impatient. I defy you to not smile for the entire time you are there.

Unless you’re swimming laps. There’s a good chance that swimming laps won’t cause you to smile, no matter how much you enjoy it. I don’t know why, but it’s what I’ve observed. I like to swim laps, and I know I don’t smile while I do it, although I feel uplifted.

Pick one person, any person. Now, for thirty seconds, picture that person in a swimming pool, wearing goggles and arm floaties and swim fins and a nose clip– and floating with a swim noodle. Now doesn’t that make you feel better? Doesn’t that put a goofy smile on your mug? When you’re angry at someone, picture that person in that scenario. That’ll put everything into proper perspective.

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I’m The Decider

Beach Bow Tie o’ the Day is helping me write my list of things to pack for our upcoming vacation. It’s over a week away, but I usually get out my suitcase early and put things in it as I think of them. Doing it that way guarantees that I don’t forget anything, cuz if I don’t have to pack at the last minute, I don’t have to worry about remembering everything at one time. Yes, I’m writing my list, but y’all know you don’t remember everything as you’re jotting down the list. And every time you do remember something to add to it, you can’t find the list. I’m sure I’m not the only one who does this.

I always carry a notebook, even on vacation. Okay. I admit it. I usually carry two or 3. I must have a teeny one that fits in my back pocket, for making quick notes. I have a regular-size legal pad somewhere near me at all times at home or in whatever vehicle I’m driving– or in my suitcase if I’m on vacation. I also carry a mid-size notebook that fits in a small purse-size leather bag I carry.  I call that one my “in-case” notebook– for in case something happens to the other two. And I usually pack around a half-dozen pens– all the same kind. Bic Velocity Bold. [If I were to write my packing list in a notebook, I’d still lose it. I wouldn’t remember which notebook I wrote it in.]

My notebooks are really what most people refer to as “journals,” but for some reason, I’ve never liked that name. “Journal” makes it sound like a stuffy, arrogant notebook that thinks it’s better than other types of notebooks. I do not participate in snootiness if I can help it.

Suzanne always drags along a slew of her notebooks and office products too. Beginning with this vacation, I am starting a tradition. I have designated myself The Chooser o’ Vacation Notebooks. This trip deserves a fresh notebook.

I chose these to be our main notebooks. Mine’s the one with the Emerson quote. Suzanne gets the one with the stitched suitcase. Yes, the suitcase lines truly are stitched. To me, it’s just Suzanne-y. I think she’ll like it when she sees it. If she does like it, that pretty much guarantees the tradition of vacation notebooks will continue. And then I will remain The Chooser o’ Vacation Notebooks– a job I will savor and will take damn seriously. Plus, its title sounds so important.