Month: March 2019

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And Lucas Drooled Non-stop

Bow Tie o’ Yesterday Afternoon had a baby shower to attend with us. Of course, I chose to wear one of my infant-size bow ties.

Suzanne’s nephew, Robby, his wife Jorie, and their daughter, Brooklynn are expecting a baby boy in a few weeks. Thus, a baby shower had to be organized. Robby’s sister, Rachel, and their mom, Marjorie, created the bash at Rachel’s residence. (Remember, Marjorie is Skitter’s sleepover pal, who takes up residence at our house when Suzanne and I go out of town. Skitter loves Marjorie. As do we.)

So the baby shower for Jorie got planned and scheduled weeks ago. Even though Robby and Jorie currently live in Tucson, they were planning to be here in Utah to attend the party. Enter the unexpected hitch: Jorie was recently told she wasn’t allowed to travel until after the babe is born. Does the baby shower get canceled? Does the baby shower go on with nary an appearance from Robby, Jorie, or Brooklynn? Does the baby shower get rescheduled until after the bambino is born? Nope. Nope. And nope. The shower must go on, with all the usual suspects in attendance.

Solution: The baby shower was done by Skype– between the Rachel’s living room in Layton and the Tucson living room of the expectant family, in whose honor the occasion was thrown. Everybody could see and hear everybody. Presents for the soon-to-be-here baby boy were opened in both living rooms. Yes, it went swimmingly. In fact, I’m kinda thinking of never going anywhere ever again. I’ll just Skype myself to wherever I’m supposed to be.

Rachel and her husband, Walker, are the parents of the two tikes I’m hanging with in these photos. Neither child had any clue what a baby shower is or why it was happening in their house, but they were the Best. Party. Favors. Ever! The bigly boy is Liam. The new one is Lucas. They are happy kids.

At one point yesterday, Liam wanted me to go downstairs with him to watch him do his death-defying trampoline moves. AGAIN. I said I was going to stay upstairs with the adult folks right then, but I’d go downstairs again with him later. My answer sent Liam into a small pout, which teetered on the edge of a tantrum. The only thing I hate worse than a kid throwing a tantrum, is a kid throwing a weak-ass tantrum. Kids, if you’re gonna have a meltdown cuz you didn’t get your way, make it monstrous. Go all out.

“That’s not a tantrum,” I told Liam. “THIS is a tantrum!” And then I threw myself onto the carpet, on my belly– flailing my arms, kicking and pounding the floor, crying, and screaming. And guess what? Liam started to laugh. It works every time. Mission accomplished. Kid’s tantrum transforms into laughter before it can become a Category 5 storm.

And that brings me to the reason I just had to choose bowling pin/bowling ball ‘links to be my Cufflinks o’ the Day for a baby shower. Years ago, I heard a comic– whose name I can’t recall– observe that having kids is like having a bowling alley installed in your head. After you have kids, you’ll never be able to concentrate again. Your head will pound with questions and worry. You will never again be able to relax. I found this to be one of the truer analogies– literally AND figuratively– about having kids around. Kids and bowling alley similarities: lots of alarming noises; unexpected outbursts; balls landing where they shouldn’t; the occasional body going splat on the floor; fisticuffs for no reason; machines mysteriously going kaput; Mountain Dew spilled on the floor; inexplicably dirty bathrooms; volcanic eruptions of bad language; general chaos even when it’s quiet; and stinky shoes.

That reminds me. Here’s a tip: If you’ve got a kid, you will be blessed with the odor of stinky shoes. You will be doubly blessed if you are able to follow the odor and locate the shoes. DO NOT THROW THEM IN THE GARBAGE CAN! If your kid notices the shoes are missing, your kid will follow the scent and retrieve them. No, when you find the smelly culprits YOU MUST BURN THEM! YOU MUST ANNIHILATE THEM! They will find their way back into your house if you do not destroy them completely.

BTW Hey, check out the ribbon bow tie atop the Cake Made o’ Diapers. The bow tie was a special decoration at the baby shower, crafted just for me to see. Suzanne’s family knows me so well. They had a bit of extra ribbon after they finished making the “cake” and they thought of me. I love them.

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One Necktie. No Bow Ties. Just Mutts.

I got distracted by the Roxy and Skitter pix I ran onto yesterday. Enjoy a few more photos. The last picture presented here is of the night before we put Roxy Lou to sleep. She was confused and weak, and Skitter did not leave her side. There’s also a photo of Mom asleep on our couch, with Roxy and Skitter sleeping against her legs. Next post will be a “normal” one– complete with neckwear and my yammering on and on about some topic or other.

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Niffin’ About Roxy



Today, I found some old TIE O’ THE DAY doggie pix, which Skitter and I culled through. The photos were mostly of our late pal, Roxy Lou, posing in Ties and Bow Ties o’ the Day. Skitter and I have lowered our smiles to half-staff since we looked at the photographs. We teared-up a little. FYI When Skitter cries, she hogs the Kleenex.

Suzanne and Skitter and I had to help Roxy go to sleep just over a year ago, and Skitter has been dog-less since then. While Roxy Lou was here, she took the scared, abused Skitter under her wing and taught her how to be a dog. While Roxy was here, I also never had to turn on the vacuum cleaner: Roxy ate anything that fell to the floor, anywhere in the house. It did not have to be food. (We called her Hoover.) That’s how she became the fattest mini dachsie to ever waddle on the face of the planet.

Enjoy these reposted pix of the late Roxy’s modeling, as she appeared in TIE O’ THE DAY. I included a couple of naked-neck pictures too.

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My Poor Hairbrush

My hairs went through so much terror yesterday, and at bedtime some of them were still going through it. I thought I should prove to you how strong my hair goop is. Seven hours after I did my visor hairdo, a few brave strands were still hanging tough– trying to visor through, as long as possible. I chose a simple wood Bow Tie o’ the Pajamas to wear while snapping this selfie. I thought it was a fitting choice, since my hairs kind of resemble dead tree branches.

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The Mad Hattery O’ My Afternoon Hairs

Colonel Sanders Tie o’ the Day helped me re-think my baseball caps. Do I really need them, or can I get by with this glued-up visor hairdo? I dunno. My hairs visor seems to be keeping the sun out of my eyes so far today. If I got rid of my hats, I could free up their space in The Tie Room, where I could house more bow ties. But alas! I love my hat collection too, so that’s not gonna happen. There’s room in The Tie Room Resort for all things that wander in.

Small towns are like that, even though we tend to think of them as narrow-minded. A small town will generally set a place for you at its table. Trust me, you will find narrow-minded people anywhere you go. You will find jerks everywhere you go, as well. And if you act like a jerk in a small town, be prepared to lose that place at the table you were so kindly given– as you would deserve to. But most people realize nobody’s perfect, and they’ve got plenty of their own issues to work on. A lot of “mind your own biscuits” combined with even more of “love your neighbor” goes a long way toward allowing you to live like a mature human being among other grown-ups. [Note: The meanings of the aforementioned two sayings are more alike than they seem.]

For example, I’m reminded of a Delta-area woman I knew in my kidhood, who suddenly– out of nowhere, out of character– began to steal. She stole insignificant things from stores, and she didn’t seem to hide what she was doing. A lot of the town knew.

Some people wanted to see her put in jail. Some people wanted to see her face plastered across the front page of the newspaper. She was a wonderful, law-abiding wife, mother, citizen, and church member in all other ways. She wasn’t stealing because she couldn’t afford what she took. And the things she stole were random and unnecessary. It was clear she was suffering from a mental issue. The cops, store owners, and her family had a pow-wow and decided legal action was probably not going to help her. They decided shaming her in THE CHRONICLE wasn’t going to help her or her family. But she couldn’t keep getting away with stealing, without consequences. That this woman was not going to jail bothered a few busybodies who neither minded their own biscuits, nor did they try to help.

Working together to love their neighbor, the group of cops, store owners, and family– including the woman herself– created a plan to get everybody who was involved in the immediate problem what they all needed/wanted. The woman agreed to receive mental health services. The store managers wouldn’t call the cops when they saw her steal, which would free up the cops to deal with more pressing issues. The stores would keep track of what the woman stole, and the husband would pay the bills each month until she got her mental issue taken care of. After months of mending her psyche in therapy, she became well. Nothing “official” was done. A small town of neighbors loved one neighbor enough to solve a strange problem together. A narrow-minded town would not even try to accomplish that.

As with most things in life, you need to find the balance. You need to keep the balance between your biscuits and your neighbors: You have to pay just a smidgen of attention to your neighbors’ biscuits, so you’ll know your neighbors’ struggles. Sometimes that’s the only way you’ll be able to know how to love your neighbors in specific ways that will help sustain them.

End o’ sermon. Again.

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Hairs Thursday #5


As I considered what to make my hairdo do today, I started to think about how snazzy mustaches can be. I decided I’d try to create a couple with my hairs. Here’s my stab at a Fu Manchu. You can see my mustache-styling skills are quite limited. I can’t even do a Fu Manchu that looks right. The important thing is that I tried. Just for y’all, I tried.

My ‘stache makes as much sense as my Prince-Albert-in-a-Can Bow Tie o’ the Day. I mean, these young whippersnappers nowadays have no clue about the old routine of prank-calling a store that sold tobacco and asking: “Do you have Prince Albert in a can?” And when told YES, saying “Well, you better let him out.” I have to do a lot of explaining when I wear this piece. And the young wonderers still don’t find it amusing. And that gets me to thinking about how much more isolated Delta was when I was a kid. Oh, it was still 140 miles from SLC, but without cell phones, texting, and the internet, your mind was near-completely soaked in the confines of Delta and its offshoots. A phone prank and toilet-papering a house was about the funniest crap you could pull, without causing a town civil war.

Don’t think for a minute that Delta was boring back in the day. There was plenty to do: for example, sliding down the flumes easily morphed into cliff jumping; tubing down the Sevier could end up planting you at the reservoir for a swim and a bonfire; throwing a couch in the back of a truck (Yes, we rode in the back of trucks.) often ended at an Oak City canyon party– complete with a campfire and s’mores.

Like most kids, I was allowed to ride my bike everywhere from the age of zero. (Slight exaggeration.) I was allowed to play on the railroad tracks. They were pretty much our front yard. I was taught the rules, and then set free to explore. Of course, being bored in Delta was your choice. Some people were, and I felt sorry for them.

Delta was also packed with characters who had made their individual lives a little iconic by their bigly actions. For example, there were Bernell and Blanche Ferry (son and mother) whose accidental antics included Blanche falling out of their old truck’s passenger door as Bernell rounded the corner to turn onto Main Street. She rolled like a roly-poly into the gutter, stood up, and waited for Bernell to go around the block and come pick her up again. That’s right: he did not stop for her. He went around the whole block. When he came back around and finally stopped by Blanche, she hopped in the truck, and off they went on their merry way. The scene looked like they were following a script– like they had done this a million times before. I felt privileged to observe the entire event. I’m still I awe of that old woman’s un-breaking bones.

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I Got Scolded

I sure did, and it wasn’t even about politics– which I will gladly talk about one-on-one with anyone, in person, but I will not address the subject on Facebook or the website. So it wasn’t about that, but it was a mini brouhaha anyway. Ascot o’ the Day reminds me it is not my job to be in charge of other people’s ruffled feathers. Nevertheless, I did get called on the proverbial carpet by a reader who thought I was attacking marriage in yesterday morning’s post. Not so, my friends. Not at all. Not one bit.

I thought I was very clear in my post. My point was that marriage has its near-impossible moments of pain and discontent, as does life in general. Because of that fact, it’s helpful to have a stash of stupid tucked away in your love, in order to soldier on. Even the best of marriages get bumpy and convoluted occasionally. If you could see– before you got hitched– every land mine you’d experience in your marriage, there’s a good chance you might not have gone through with it. That’s why it’s good to be clueless/naive about some ventures. Being stupid about love is part of what makes us brave and hopeful enough to risk hitching our ball to someone’s chain. (That sounded very wrong, but you understand.) A healthy dose of stupid when you’re in love is, well, healthy.

So I apologize if anybody took offense. I won’t, however, budge on my belief in the value of stupid when it comes to marriage– and kids and all of the important people we choose to love. The stupidest things I’ve ever done, I did for love. Those stupid moves– and the courage they required– have earned me the strong, enduring relationships I have. That’s everything.

And it’s all because of stupid. Really, if you wanna know a secret, here it is: I will surely do more stupid things for people I love, until the minute I die. I recommend you do stupid things for those you love too. Will I sometimes get hurt for doing those stupid things? Yes. Will it eventually be worth it to me and to those I love? Yes. In fact, sometimes the stupider it is, the better it turns out. Why? Because The Kingdom of Stupid is where we all learn how to be better human beings. Nobody learns anything in The Kingdom of the Easy Things We Already Know.

[I really should have stuck with the word “naive” in yesterday morning’s post, instead of “stupid.” But “stupid” is probably closer to the truth. Plus, it’s funnier to say.]

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Evil Dishes

Bow Tie o’ the Day is helping me procrastinate. I should put the dirty dishes in the dishwasher and push the button to start it. Nah, I’ll do it later. But why? What is so darn hard about putting dishes in the dishwasher racks, and then forgetting about them as they have a shower? Nothing.

I have a complicated relationship with dirty dishes, and it’s Mom’s fault. I blame her for everything that’s wrong with me. I have threatened to sue her over the years, but she isn’t a Rockefeller or Vanderbilt. Anyhoo… Mom has always been a control freak about her kitchen– especially about anything that went on in the kitchen sink. Her kitchen sink was her private domain. I have no idea why. It was nothing special– just a kitchen sink. But it was a forbidden spot. Just ask anyone who offered to do her dishes after a bigly family feast. Mom’s answer was usually NO. Her exact words would be something like, “I should say not!” Sometimes you’d even hear, “No way, Jose.” To be fair, as she got older and the family got bigger, she’d accept a teeny bit of help. (Mom made it clear she did not want a dishwasher installed in her kitchen–ever.)

My childhood was full of household chores, but doing the dishes wasn’t one of them. I dusted. I vacuumed. I mowed the lawn. I delivered honey. I moved Dad’s stinky work boots out of the living room. Dishes, on the other hand, were never put on my to-do list. Based on the few times I managed to wash the dishes, I hated the task with a vengeance. I think Mom took pity on me. Mom did trust Dad with the task on occasion. When she was out of town, Dad took on the washin’ o’ the dishes. I have a feeling she told him about my “allergy” to doing them.

[FYI Dad and I didn’t generate many dirty dishes when Mom was out of town. When it was my turn to fix dinner for us, I ordered pizza from the Rancher. When it was Dad’s turn, we ate fish-and-chips from A & W.]

Karma hits hard sometimes. When I went to college, my first job was as a dishwasher at Dixon’s Pies, in Ogden. I called Mom after my first shift and said, “Mom, you know all those dishes you didn’t make me do when I was growing up? I did them ALL last night.”

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Howdy And Yahoo!

I spread the gospel of neckwear. For example, it is my firm belief that if everyone wore a bow tie every day, the world would be a tiny bit kinder and lighter. It is almost impossible to be rude to bow tie-wearin’ folk. Bow ties are too nifty to inspire hate– whether you’re wearing one or looking at someone who’s wearing one. A bow tie is like a wink. An oversized and/or untraditionally shaped bow tie is especially lovable. Neckties can be as charming as bow ties (especially the ties I collect), but ties have the added connotations of words like “work,” “stuffed shirt,” “boss,” “authority,” “uniform,” “formal” and “serious.” Bow ties tend to escape that sort of baggage.

This afternoon’s Tie o’ the Day is here to tell you that one way to lighten up the baggage of neckties is to wear a hat. A cowboy hat works nicely, but almost any hat will do– except the Pope’s hat. His hat doesn’t really make anyone feel like chillin’ out. In my opinion, baseball caps are the top choice of hat to pair with neckties because they are casual and reminiscent of youth, play, and sunshine. They’re also cheap, which means you can own a billion of them. And I assure you that clashing a tie with your wardrobe get-up crumbles the seriousness of ties too.

In fact, the main point of clash fashion is to remind you that you do not have to dress like everyone else. If you like solid colors, muted colors, matching, or uniforms, etc., that’s ok– if it really is your style. Your solitary fashion job is to look like you. Don’t dress like everybody else just because you think you’re supposed to: express your soul. Flex your soul. Experiment. You just might find that your soul looks like a purple-and-green paisley shirt, camo shorts, and a matador hat. (Ooooh, I’ll have to try that. It sounds like a fun-a-roo get-up!) Be ye not afraid of showing your soul in your attire.

Try it. The more you truly resemble your authentic self, the more you will feel at home in the life you’re living. And that’s exactly where you should feel at home, since it’s exactly where you always are. Seems quite obvious, eh?

Do you really think I always knew I would be dressing like I dress at age fifty-damn-five; that I’d be wearing at least two ties/bow ties per day; that I’d be taking infinite selfies o’ me and my neckwear; and that I’d be writing a blog about whatever my day’s neckwear inspires? I didn’t know this is what my soul looks like until I tried a few dozen different styles and modes of living over the decades. I experimented until I met my soul. Now, my style pretty much reflects my soul, and I can live in accordance with my soul’s values. And look at me now! I’m still not famous. Yet. But I am not homesick for my true soul– which I was for much of my life.

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The Optimism Of Being Smitten

I was scrolling through my TIE O’ THE DAY media gallery, and I discovered some photos I hadn’t yet posted. These are from my grandnephew’s wedding reception, which was held a few weeks ago. Tie o’ the Evening is my go-to wedding tie, which I wear to all the hitchin’ celebrations I attend.

The joyous couple is Jayden Champneys and his wife, Payton. Let me say this about them: Hottest. Couple. Ever. I am not exaggerating. There are two men who Mom can never talk about without commenting on their handsome-idity, and they are Jayden and LDS Apostle Dieter F. Uchtdorf. Mention Jayden to Mom, and the first thing she says is “Oh, he is so handsome.” Mention Dieter F. Uchtdorf and Mom says, “It’s so nice to finally have a nice looking General Authority to look at during Conference, instead of those old fossils up on the stand.” (Trust me, she loves them all.)

[FYI Mom also refers to the Utah State Legislators as “those old fossils,” who need to be voted out of office as soon as possible. If Mom has an opinion, she will be sure you know what it is. But you probably already know she shares her thoughts, because you’ve most likely heard an opinion or two of hers– whether you wanted to or not.]

Anyhoo…By getting married, Jayden and Payton have committed themselves, not just to each other, but to the most complex relationship in existence. According to marriage statistics, the odds are against them spending the entirety of the rest of their lives together. It is not a reflection on them and their love. It is simply a fact of our culture.

To take on the extraordinary commitment of marriage is a testament to Jayden’s and Payton’s hope and faith in the power of love, and in their optimism about their future. Love is, by its very nature, a formidable optimism. Love also contains an integral strain of stupid. When two people merge and commit to a lifetime (or time and all eternity, as is said in LDS culture) of facing the world together– for and with each other–, it demonstrates a healthy kind of naivete. That is not a bad thing. We need to be unaware of the difficulty of some ventures– like marriage, or having children.

If we knew the struggles and pain of taking proper care of spouses and kids, most of us would be too frightened to pair up. There is a lot of heartache involved in caring about people to whom we give our whole hearts. And for that reason, it’s good to be stupid about the complex realities of making a family. We commit to someone and– despite and because of the difficulties– we eventually grow insight and wisdom about nurturing a lasting relationship. If we pay attention, we gradually get un-naive. We eventually get un-stupid. We get better at growing the kind of love that can beat the odds. A daring stupidity is necessary to a successful and enduring marriage.