Yes, it’s true. Skitter and I spend our days sitting around the townhouse wearing her Tie/Bow Tie o’ the Day collars and her cowboy hats. It’s what we do, and it’s why we make the bigly bucks.
I Am Innocent
Tie o’ Last Friday Evening is the word itself: NECKTIE. I was sitting on the loveseat with all four remotes, watching LIVE PD on A & E– which is what Friday and Saturday evenings look like around here. Now, I’m the kind of girl who refuses to stay on the channel I’m watching when it goes to commercials. I channel surf my fave channels during my show’s commercial breaks. I flipped to the ID channel, and look what I found. After I first read the title of the program, I was afraid someone was murdering neckties. But then I figured out human beings were the victims of a person who used neckties as deadly weapons.
For the record, I have been to Atlanta a total of two times in my life. I never left the airport, so I could not possibly be the Atlanta Necktie Killer– although I guess I share “a curious penchant for neckties” with the killer.
No true lover of ties o’ any ilk would cause harm to anyone.
FYI 11 TMS treatments down, 25 to go.
Three Girls At Church On Easter
Easter Bow Tie o’ the Day and I headed south to BYUville for church at Bishop Trav’s ward. I didn’t have an Easter bonnet or I certainly would have worn it. Here, Bow Tie and I are with two of the strongest, most incredible, most beautiful women I have been blessed to have in my family: Travis’ wife, Bishopette Collette; and Bishop Travis’ mom, my Sister Who Wishes To Remain Nameless. (If you value my life, not only do you NOT know my sister’s name– you didn’t see her in this photo either.)
9 Treatments Down, 27 To Go
Snoopy and Woodstock Easter Tie o’ the Day is pleased to report that I am getting used to the weekday head-thumping I’m getting from the TMS electromagnetic gadgetry. It’s shooting into my noggin with the same intensity as it has been since I began the treatments, but I’m acclimating to it to the point that it feels more like annoying discomfort on my skull, as opposed to weird pain. That’s a good thing.
Every few-second series of zapping makes my eyes and forehead twitch a bit while it’s going on. I am NOT pulling faces in these pix. I tried to snap my face in some mid-twitches, but I didn’t catch the bilgiest spasms, cuz it’s tough to take selfies of your twitching eyes when your eyes are twitching. I’ll keep trying my best to catch my inner spaz.
Sloggers o’ the Day offer flowers and butterflies. And Sasquatch/Bigfoot wears its own Socks– from bigfootsockco.com.
[Yup, I’m still working on the me-and-TMS post I’ve promised to write. For some reason, I’m finding it difficult to talk about my current bipolar speed bumps. Heck, I post about everything on the planet, with no hesitation whatsoever. But wherever my head is at right now, I’m tongue-tied. Don’t worry. I’ll be yapping about every last detail of my mental health history– before you can say LOONY BIN.]
Every Day Can Be A Holiday
Three nearly identical snapshots of Skitter in her Bow Tie o’ the Day is three times as good as one snapshot. Skitter was especially excited to be in the pix because today is National Piñata Day. She even had a nap in her sombrero this afternoon. After she eats dinner, we’re gonna take that colorful stick and beat the stuffin’ out of our taco piñata. I hope Skitter isn’t disappointed when tacos don’t fall out. I also hope I’m not disappointed when tacos don’t fall out.
[Yeah, I’m still working on my TMS-and-me post. I keep adding to it. It’s still coming.]
Hairs Thursday #9
Mustache Bow Tie o’ the Day. Sasquatch Socks o’ the Day. And animal print Sloggers o’ the Day. The Hairs o’ the Day are doing the front-ponytail-through-a-backwards-baseball-cap thing.
[I haven’t quite finished writing the post I promised yesterday, about why TMS treatments are a good choice for me. It is coming.]
The First Of Two Things
Check it out: I believe my shirt collar is a bigly bit too large, since my face fits in it. Tie o’ the Day is a lovely purple, silver, and gray kids’ tie. The sun was bright as could be outside this morning when I snapped the washed-out photo. I got to my appointment early and just hung around listening to tunes in the car– and taking washed-out TIE O’ THE DAY pictures. You can at least see the short length of Tie. Its colors pop out at ya in the photo of me and the TMS equipment. You know– if I flipped the electromagnetic gadget on its side, it would look like Mickey Mouse ears. I’ll try to capture a pic of that.
Behold! Sloggers o’ the Day are not my faves. I doubt My Saddle Purse is fond of them either. The shoes’ print design is not even close to my style. The design and colors remind me of Momo (my grandma Wright), whose style was always elegant and impeccable. But her style is not mine. I think I decided on these Sloggers simply because they make me think of her. That’s reason enough to wear them.
First today, I have a gripe. Our dryer died over the weekend. It was at least twenty years old when we inherited it, and it’s been one of the family for the past twenty years. Its efficient longevity is amazing, so it deserves to rest now in Dryer Heaven. I do not begrudge the dryer for giving up the ghost.
Suzanne did her consumer research and decided on the best new dryer for us. It is now bought and paid for, as they say. Unfortunately, it can’t be delivered and installed until next Friday. By that time, we will have lived without a dryer for TWO WHOLE WEEKS! That ain’t right. We are growing the dirty clothes piles to prove it. I can dry clothing on the deck if we get desperate, but that would result in a costly fine from the Homeowners Association. Perhaps we could use this unfortunate event as an excuse to buy more clothing, cuz you can already tell I don’t have enough to wear.
And second, …… I will save the second topic for my next post. Meanwhile, I assure you that my TMS treatments are safe. Worry not, friends! I will ‘splain to you why this is a good thing for me to try. 7down, 29 to go.
Visiting Mom In Deltassippi A Couple Of Weeks Ago
M & M’s Bow Tie o’ the Day knows as well as anyone that a trip to see Mom at Millard Care and Rehab is a trip for Suzanne to see the other Mom also, as in MOM’S CRAFTS. Yup, Deltatucky is a two-mom town for Suzanne. I hang with Mom. Suzanne hangs with Mom AND the Mother of All Fabric Stores.
M & M’s Bow Tie also reminded me to deliver a very important gift for Mom. You see, every Easter season, when all the malted milk ball eggs show up in the stores, and the Peeps take their place alongside them in the Easter candy aisle, I buy Mom a bag of spiced jelly bean eggs. This year, when I thought about getting them for her, I figured I should skip it– since her blood sugar has been fiendishly high. I hoped she wouldn’t think about them this year. When I went to visit Mom a month ago, all she could talk about was the bag of spiced jelly beans I didn’t show up with. I wasn’t going to let that happen again, so on my last visit– a couple of weeks ago– I made triple-sure I delivered a bag o’ spiced jelly beans to her bedside.
Should I have given her such a sugary treat? Not really. But Mom is 88. She knows all about her high blood sugar. If she wants to risk eating a bag of Brach’s Spiced Jelly Beans so badly, she’s going to get ’em from me. I might be 55, but I am still Mom’s baby– and I do not say NO to my mother. Never have. Never will. My job is to spoil Mom. And I’m telling you right now: If Mom wants a six-pack of Budweiser to drink, a pipe to smoke, and a tin of Copenhagen to chew ‘n’ spit, I will get them for her. I will even barricade her door at MCR while she partakes of her vices, so she won’t get caught by her “guards” while she’s being bad.
BTW When I was at MCR last time, I left Skitter with Mom in her room while I talked with a couple of family members in the hall near the facility’s entrance. Well, out of nowhere, here comes my pal, Katie, who takes such good care of Mom at MCR. Katie took one look at me and immediately said, “Oh, didn’t Skitter come down with you today?” I told her Skitter was in with Mom. And, without one more word to me, off Katie went to check it out I guess. Apparently, Katie was done with me. So I went back to the conversation I had been having with my people. Later, I looked for Katie throughout the day, but I couldn’t find her again before Suzanne and Skitter and I had to head back to the bigly city. I have always joked that it’s Skitter who MCR really likes to see show up, not me at all. Now– thanks to Katie– I know it’s not a joke. It’s true. Skitter is my ticket in. As long as I have her, I’ll be welcome at MCR. I hope.
[Note to Katie: I’m exaggerating that tiny story bigly, for the purpose of increasing chuckles. But I really did try to find you, and couldn’t.]
FYI Yes, that’s Suzanne in one of the photos, showing Mom my purse. My purse gets around. I wonder if it “sleeps around,” as well.
It’s Downright Shocking
Bow Tie o’ the Day “enjoyed” a round of electromagnetically attacking my Brain o’ the Day. 6 Down, 30 to go. I will make it. My skull might not, but I will.
Here I am with the electromagnetic coil stuck against my head. It looks like an innocent reading lamp, which it is certainly not. Each daily treatment lasts only twenty minutes, which doesn’t seem like a long time– until you understand it’s twenty minutes of painful pulses almost continually bombarding your noggin. I get a few seconds of rapidly repeating shocks, followed by fewer seconds of PAUSE, then back to the pulses, and so on. When the coil sends the shocks through my skull, it sounds exactly like a sewing machine needle going up and down. It feels like it too. See, you learn something from my posts every day.
And here are my Sloggers ankle-boots. I only have one pair. I’m not really an ankle-boot garden shoe kind of girl, I guess. Y’all seem to like my Sloggers, so I’ll show ’em to ya. I don’t know if any of my Sloggers like my treatments, but they’re going with me anyway. They can stare at my purse with me for twenty minutes.
Dog Paws Smell Like Corn Chips
A canine miracle happened on this date, nineteen years ago. My pup, Araby, was born. Tie o’ the Day is sooo Araby. Tennis balls filled her mind. Sleep was also important to her. She liked to sleep almost as much as Suzanne does. In these photos, Araby strikes three of her greatest sleep-pose hits.
Araby was not “planned.” When I moved back to Utah from Maryland, I left my ex there. I brought three suitcases with me on the plane. That’s it. I brought what I could carry. I didn’t want anything else. My ex’s sister picked me up from the SLC airport and took me to her house to visit her kids before I hitched a ride to Delta. The minute I walked into my ex’s sister’s house, the kids pelted me with hugs. And the most extraordinary yellow lab puppy ran to me too. It didn’t belong to the kids. Apparently, my ex had called her sister and arranged for a puppy to be waiting there for me. I knew exactly why my ex had done it. She knew I was in a dangerous place on my bipolar pendulum. I had walked away from everything I had in Maryland, and I’d had a lot. My ex knew that if I had a puppy who needed me, I would most likely be safe from suicide. It was the most loving thing my ex had ever done for me, and I will bless her forever for that caring act.
I adore every dog who has ever been a pal to me, but Araby was The One. Araby was the Dog o’ My Life. She seemed to understand my bipolar head from the second we met. From the beginning, her forehead even had the same worry furrows I was born with. I don’t think she was bipolar, but she knew things about my moods even I didn’t know. She could see things coming. She had my number, as they say. She pushed my buttons in positive ways. If I was lost in my precarious depths, Araby rescued me: She had a habit of coming to where I sat and putting her paw on my knee, to bring my crazy head back to a better realm. Araby was also a willing audience for my writing. I would read a draft of a poem out loud, and Araby sat up and seemed to listen seriously, as if it was her job to critique my work. She was a terrific editor.
Araby had been with me about seven years by the time I decided beer was no longer my friend. She was wary of me for the first few days after I quit drinking. She kept her distance. I guess I didn’t smell or act like the me she knew. When that happened, I was afraid I’d lost her love. For the briefest of moments, I thought I would have to start drinking again– to win back her affection. But she warmed up to me all over again, and she decided she loved me sober. Smart dog.
FYI I came up with Araby’s name immediately when I laid eyes on her. Her face resembled that of an Arabian horse. (Dad just called her Arby.)
