Month: July 2019

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I Got My Wings, After Whining To The Flight Attendant

The day we flew away to Arkansas, whose nickname is apparently The Natural State, was also Suzanne’s birthday. She joins me in the double nickels of 55-dom. The photo here of Suzanne and her birthday “cake” is from two birthdays ago, in Delta– our last summer there. I am proud of the potato chip cake I made her. Suzanne and potato chips are tight. I’m betting this cake’s one of her fave birthday cakes ever. Hint: Don’t ask her to share her potato chips with you. You will lose an arm or two. If you wanna eat chips, it’s strictly BYOC.

Because we were in planes and airports on her birthday this year, it wasn’t possible for me to throw Suzanne a party. But as I sat on the plane, I suddenly remembered the potato chip cake from 2017, so I bought Suzanne the teeny, teeny, teeny can of Pringles they sell on the plane for bigly dollars. The it’s-Suzanne’s-birthday-so-she-must-be-presented-with-potato-chips tradition lives!

For her birthday, I gave Suzanne something she deserves. I gave her peace and quiet from me. I can be tiring, and she needed a break– especially before a bigly dose of vacation with me. On the flight from SLC to Atlanta, we watched different movies. On the flight from Atlanta to Little Rock, our seats weren’t near each other, and I didn’t do what I’ve done before on the rare occasions when that’s happened: I didn’t persuade other people to switch seats so Suzanne and I could sit together. Nope, I sat in my assigned seat four rows behind her. I gave her an intermission from the variety show I seem to have been born to be. I gave her all the stillness one can get in a commercial jet plane filled to its gills with passengers.

BTW I also knew she would find “birthday” jewelry in Arkansas. I was exactly right about that.

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Traveling Home In Style

Bow Tie o’ the Day and I just flew in from Arkansas– and boy, are my new cowboy boots tired! Yup, Suzanne dragged me into a boot store in Mountain View, AR– where this pair o’ boots found me. They didn’t fit in my suitcase, so I had to wear them with my shorts through the Little Rock, Atlanta, and SLC airports, as well as on the planes home. The shorts-and-boots combo is a snappy one I’ll repeat.

I’ll post about the Arkansas adventure, starting tomorrow. Now I’m gonna snore, unpack, do laundry, then snore some more.

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Sing Along: Saturday Is A Special Day! It’s The Day We Get Ready For Va-cay!

Skitter and I switched our “same” Ties o’ the Day, and we still like the look.

I’m usually full of clash fashion ideas, but I’m stumped today. What does one wear to Arkansas? And, more importantly, what does one wear for a week in Arkansas? We head there tomorrow, and I’m not sure what to expect. Of course, I usually wear whatever the heck I want anyway, no matter where I go– so I probably don’t need to stress too much about it. But an actual, paid model once told me I am “a fashion genius,” so I do fret about maintaining my bigly loud style. Otherwise, people are disappointed. And you know how my entire life’s goal is to please other people by living up to their expectations of what they think I should be. NOT!

As far as what neckwear to choose for our trip, I have found neckties tend to get in the way of vacay exploring and adventuring, so a stash of bow ties is usually the best choice for daily vacation attire. I pack the pieces carefully because they crush easily. Ain’t nobody wanna be seein’ no crushed bow ties!

I put each bow tie in its own tiny box. Hauling them in a carry-on requires expert packing skills because the boxes simply take up extra room. Think of it: We’ll be gone 6 days, so at 2 posts/photos per day (which is my goal), I must pack a minimum of 12 bow ties. And let’s not forget that I have to take along a few “stunt” bow ties on the trip, for posing in extreme vacay scenarios for TIE O’ THE DAY posts.

By the time I pack the necessities (i. e., neckwear), I hardly have room for my old timey, stripey swimming suit, socks, and bras. If we were staying in an Ozarks nudist camp for the week, I wouldn’t have to make tough packing decisions about what goes in the carry-on. And yes, if we were staying in an Ozarks nudist camp, you can bet I’d still be wearing a bow tie. I can’t even conceive of a nude-neck camp. That is the kind of sketchy place where you would never catch me walking around.

I’m sad to say that, so far, I am not planning to take The Saddle Purse with me to Arkansas. Suzanne and I try our best to fly completely “carry-on.” Aside from my carry-on suitcase, I can take one personal item on the plane, and I need it to be my computer bag. Alas, while packing for this first trip since buying my purse, I have finally discovered one thing “wrong” with The Saddle Purse: It’s not bigly enough to carry my laptop. I am devastated to not be able to take my purse with us. At least Skitter and The Saddle Purse will have each other to entertain and to comfort while we are away.

And they’ll have Marjorie, Suzanne’s sister, who will once again be Skitter’s chaperone at our house for the week. We all know what that means: The cops will be here regularly to give citations for noise disturbance complaints from the neighbors. Let the all-night parties begin!

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Triple-A Baseball, Hot Dogs, And Fireworks

But first there was a rain delay at the Salt Lake Bees game last night. Like the good Boy Scout she is, Suzanne is always prepared. Here we are under her frog umbrella, during the rain delay before the bigly game. Baseball Bow Tie o’ the 4th was also glad we took a blanket to the ballpark.

I think pro baseball games run too long, unless you’re playing in one. And I never have. Of course, I can’t say that to anyone I’m related to because baseball has been good to a boatload of people in my family. Baseball has put a bunch of my family members through college, and one of my nephews spent a decade playing pro baseball. And yet… half-way through a pro baseball game, it is downright painful to me to watch the field. Crickets, I tell ya. Painful crickets!

I like the experience of the stadium. I like watching the spectators. I don’t mind paying $5 for a naked hot dog. I like watching the game’s dozen plays where something actually happens on the field. I can appreciate baseball’s complexities, skills, and strategies: they just don’t speak to me. Well, I guess they do speak to me. They say things like, “Only seven more OUT’s and we can go home!” Inevitably, I end up cheering for even my own team to accrue 3 OUT’s ASAP, so the game will pass more quickly.

Here’s how last night went: We played the game of finding a safe parking space by the stadium. The baseball game’s starting time was delayed almost an hour, cuz of rain. The game started, and then played and played and played and played and played. Between innings, people who were dressed up as produce ran a race (the ear of corn won); two women batted water balloons (they tied); kids stood on the bases as some kind of reward for something; a kid ran a race against himself; and other such things of interest occurred. The Bees won. We watched the stupendous fireworks from our stadium seats. (They weren’t as exciting as Delta’s fireworks, but nothing can be.) Then we made our way through alleys and vacant lots to find Suzanne’s car, which had made it safely through its sketchy parking space evening. And then it took us home to rescue Skitter from her crate. She seemed unfazed by any fireworks she might have heard in our absence.

Over all, we had a rip-roarin’ good time. We can have a blast anywhere. Why did I attend an event which doesn’t thrill me? First, Suzanne asked if I wanted to go. I do not say NO to Suzanne. And second, I sometimes like to re-try things I’ve decided aren’t for me, so I can know if I’ve changed my mind about not liking them. Last night I learned that although baseball changes (WTHeck is an OPS?), and although I change, neither of us has yet changed in ways that make us enjoy each other. Maybe next year.

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Neckwear Never Takes A Holiday

Skitter tolerates the neckwear stick props, but she does not like them. When she sees me pick one up, she stiffens. She probably thinks it’s my flyswatter. And where there’s a flyswatter, there is the potential for sudden noise. And where there is noise, there is the potential for all kinds of things that might not end well for Skitter. That’s what her pre-rescue life taught her about noise. She knows she’s safe with us, but it’s difficult for her to forget bigly bad stuff when you’ve had Skitter’s early life. Needless to say, I use stick props sparingly, and now that we don’t have a residence in Delta, I rarely have to use the flyswatter.

What I have no control over, however, is The Lightin’ O’ The Fireworks on the 4th of July, by organizations and municipalities, as well as by the rank-and-file U.S. citizenry. Skitter’s expression in her photo here sorta reflects what she told me as I held her stick prop Tie o’ the Day to her chest: “I’m proud to be ‘Merican, but I don’t like the fireworks.” And then she asked me to help her settle her nerves by shaking her a martini or six. She prefers an olive with hers, not a cocktail onion.

I decided I wanted to show y’all an icon three-fer in my July 4th selfie. I believe that, along with the obvious Bow Tie o’ the Day, nothing says ‘Merica like a bejeweled vinyl mustache and a Bat Sign. Freedom, my pals, isn’t just some stuffy ideal. It isn’t just about the freedom to do serious things. We have the freedom to have mindless fun. We can still love our country even as we laugh so hard we and our friends snort our Diet Coke through our noses. Been there, done that.

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This Post Has No Title

Honestly, sometimes I’m idea-less. For example, I can’t think of anything to write about right now. But I always like to show off the neckwear, even if my head is empty of stories or wit or what I call my sermons o’ wisdom. So here’s Tie o’ the Day, with its red, white, and blue peace signs. It can serve as a reminder of the possibilities for peace– especially for those of us who live in our U.S. of A.

Because we are free, we are free to take it upon ourselves to solve problems. We are free to try to bring peace and calm to chaos, wherever we find ourselves– in our homes or outside of them. When I say “free”, I mean we can choose to take on the challenges. We are free to do more than grumble and gripe about discord that exists in our homes, neighborhoods, states, country, and world. Griping can be a fine pastime, but it doesn’t accomplish anything. It doesn’t change what isn’t working. Start with changing your imperfect self. Transform yourself in ways you know you want to be better. Transform yourself in ways you know you NEED to be better, as well. You’ll grow increasingly at peace with who you are. Becoming more at peace with your transforming self brings a little more peace to the bigly picture that includes us all.

Did you see that? I just started describing my tie– and suddenly, a topic fell out of my head.

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Ya Gotta Be There

Tie o’ the Day flashes the country’s flag and the outline of the contiguous states of the United States o’ America. For the last few years I had the Delta house, we got ourselves all set up to watch the parade in our very own driveway gravel at the side of the road. The minute folks began to stake out their spots with their lawn chairs up on Main Street, I dragged ours out by the road in front of my house– as a gesture of solidarity with the rest of the town, while also gently razzing the tradition of staking off every inch of public parking on the mile-long Delta streets for the few days leading up to the 4th. Nevermind that the road in front of my house and Mom’s house is not, nor has it ever been, on the parade route. It was just fun to sit by the road with Mom and whoever else each day, drinking our sodas, and watching people try to figure out what the heck we were doing as they drove by.

The 4th of July in Delta is basically Christmas in shorts. It’s a bigly deal everywhere in the country, but nothing like in Delta. I have seen a lot of 4th’s in a lot of other places, and I am telling you Delta is the July 4th-iest place to be. It’s not that it has events and things to do which you can’t find at other 4th’s. It offers about the same stuff to do as any other Independence Day celebration I’ve attended, but it offers a key difference: The Spirit o’ the 4th of July. Everybody’s into it. It just plain matters.

There are really only two annual holidays in Delta: Christmas and the 4th of July. If you’ve moved away from Delta, you might come home for Christmas. But you WILL come home for the 4th of July. It’s what you do. I have never met people who feel such an intense desire to go back to their hometowns for the town’s July 4th celebration. Natives and Delta-natives-who-live-elsewhere plan their summer trips around Delta’s 4th of July. I kid you not. If you’re a Delta Rabbit, when you put away the Christmas ornaments each year, you start dragging out the 4th of July decor.

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Is It “Bow Tie” or “Bowtie?”

I am loved. My cheek is loved. The residents of The Tie Room and I sincerely hope your cheeks are loved too.

‘Tis the season for stars and stripes. Bigly jumbo butterfly-style Bow Tie o’ the Day shows off its patriotic print. It’s paired with my new black t-shirt, which I must say is traveling the bow tie road o’ life. I have no feelings either way about car brands, but Chevrolet’s got the bow tie emblem, so you know I must don Chevy-wear from time to time.

As you can see, the folks at Chevrolet’s advertising firm spell “bowtie” as one word. I do not. In terms of proper spelling/grammar, “bowtie” and “bow tie” are equally acceptable. For whatever reason, I have always gone with the two-word form of the term. [Regarding the term “necktie, my research shows that it is more acceptable to spell it as one word.]

In the scheme of things, probably nobody except me cares about the bow tie/bowtie question. In fact, I know I care about a lot of things which mean absolutely nothing to most other people. We’re all like that, but about varied things. I’ve got my interests. You’ve got yours. The interests that save me on a boring or bad day might not be the interests that save you. And vice versa. My neckwear fan club is smaller than your Utah Jazz fan club. But when it comes to what makes us excited about our days, the size of the club doesn’t matter. It’s the passion for the thing itself which moves our souls.

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I Wonder As I Wander

Saturday, I wandered aimlessly around LOWE’S in my Sloggers and Bow Tie o’ the Day, while Suzanne was on the search for, as she tried to tell me, “Blah blah blah… crown molding… blah blah blah… a wood shelf… blah blah blah… above the kitchen sink… blah blah blah… to display the salt-and-pepper shakers collection.” Suzanne had a purpose. I did not. Quite happily for both of us, I might add.

I am not a household project kind of gal. I’ve fixed my share of toilet tank hardware, and I’ve cleaned the snow off the DIRECTV dish. Other than those two things, pretty much anything else around the house that goes wrong really doesn’t matter to me. I can merrily live in ruins, as long as I can pee and watch tv. Besides, Suzanne can fix it. I don’t know why I’m not handy, but I’m not. I didn’t get the handy gene. Suzanne is handy though. I’m not even handy enough to be a helper.

I’ve written about this before, but it’s worth repeating: It’s good that Suzanne can do house projects on her own. Every few years, we try to do a house project together, which is why every few years we both end up calling divorce attorneys. OK, we don’t really make the phone calls, we just think about it. OK, we don’t really think about calling– we just joke about thinking about calling. We work well together on most things, but we can’t “build” together. We can’t “assemble.” Suzanne can only work in “boss” mode, and she thinks I should be able to read her mind about what she wants me to do next. I have no clue if there even is a next. It doesn’t mean we have a problem. It means we are wise enough to know our limitations. Now that I think about it though… I’m probably all the limitations. Suzanne can do anything.

At LOWE’S, I followed Suzanne to the crown molding section, and after a while I ambled off as I usually do. When I’m in a home improvement store, I somehow find myself in the DEWALT tools section for a while. DEWALT ‘s labeling and design uses black and yellow colors. Those colors remind me of Dad, aka, St. Ron of the Bees. And then I eventually end up by the orange cones o’ danger, thinking about the Coneheads on SNL back in the olden days– as well as how it would probably be wise for me to buy a few cones o’ danger to surround myself with if I get angry. How else will people know to keep their distance when I’ve got a ‘tude? Here’s a clue how you readers can tell if I’m angry: My first name will be spelled with two L’s, as in HELLen. If you see my name spelled with two L’s, do not make eye contact. Back away slowly from your screen.

I’m always amazed that when you go to LOWE’S for a particular item, you will likely walk out of the store with something completely different, for a completely different project. So what did we walk out of LOWE’S with? We walked out, not with crown molding, but with a bigly bag o’ paver sand and a full-coverage set of TYVEK safety coveralls. It was probably a successful home improvement store shopping trip, but I’m not even handy enough to know if it was, or not.

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Gracie Gets A Blessing, But Not A Photo

The divine Miss Grace Anne Blackwelder received her name-and-a-blessing in church yesterday. It was a momentous occasion, so I knew I needed extra eyes to take it all in. My wood, eyewear Bow Tie o’ the Day volunteered to give me two extra lenses for the event. Suzanne even accompanied me to Provo for Gracie’s bigly day. It was Suzanne’s first time attending church with me at Bishop Travis’ and Bishopette Collette’s ward. It was also Suzanne’s first meeting with Gracie.

Of course, my SWWTRN was there. My oldest sister, Mercedes Rae, and her husband, Nuk, attended the bigly event as well. Bishopette Collette’s entire Family Tree seemed to be in attendance too. They are a gregarious and welcoming bunch of folks. As far as I could tell, not one of ’em was afraid of Bow Tie o’ the Day.

Bishop Travis’ blessing on Gracie was a marvel. He does not give cookie cutter, fill-in-the-blanks blessings. When Bishop Travis offers a prayer of any kind, you have to pay attention. You have to think. For example, his blessing upon Gracie included a brief acknowledgement and appreciation for the birth mother who made the difficult decision to give up a baby, which made it possible for Travis and Collette to receive the miracle of Gracie. And it also made it possible for Gracie to receive the miracle of Travis and Collette. Sometimes others pay a big part of the price, for something which enriches us.

Gracie’s fans lined the pews of the chapel. We covered at least three of the long, center rows. All through Sacrament Meeting, Gracie was lifted over heads and over pews, from one person who already loves her, to the next, and to the next. She was body-surfing the crowd. Gracie slept through almost all of the holding, rocking, kisses, and love. But I’m sure her soul drank it in.

Gracie was so busy receiving loves and smooches from the multitudes, I couldn’t get one snapshot of her.

FYI Suzanne made the quilt you see here especially for Gracie to share with Mom and Dad. Bishop Travis was never a child: he was a caped superhero throughout his kidhood. Mostly, he was Batman. Now, Travis and Collette work for BYU as important Cougar superheroes of some kind. The quilt had to combine superheroes and BYU. Gracie really is a Wonder Woman already, so that fabric was a must. The BYU fabric was a perfect clash-match choice. Suzanne nailed the themes beautifully.

Another FYI I like bragging about what Suzanne creates.