I get a kick out of my 3-D turkey tie. It is bulky, however, which makes it tough to eat safely and cleanly while wearing it, so I chose a pumpkin Bow Tie o’ the Day to wear for our Thanksfeasting. Last year, we tried BAMBARA’s T-giving buffet feast and it was a hit with our palates and tummies, so we made reservations for this year. It might become a tradition.
Suzanne’s parents’ plans to go out of town for Thanksgiving eats got doomed by weather at the last minute, so I called BAMBARA to see if they could fit two more people into our reservation. Fortunately, they were able to juggle things around and found the space for two more feasters. We picked up Suzanne’s parents and drove through the snow to BAMBARA, in SLC, to eat as much as our little bellies desired. As far as I’m concerned, the highlight of the entire spread was the Bacon & Blue Cheese Potato Squash Gratin. Fanciest. Scalloped. Potatoes. Ever.
BTW The cape I’m wearing in some of these post photos is the latest cape creation by Suzanne. Ain’t it cool beyond groovy?!
Bow Ties o’ Two Events got almost no attention. That fact didn’t deepen my depression, cuz all eyes were on the miracle we call Grace Anne Blackwelder, and that’s a bunch of joy as far as I’m concerned. Last week’s happenings were all about crossing T’s and dotting I’s, and about holy ordinances too.
Tuesday found the Blackwelder family and their fan club in a courtroom, where Bishop Travis and Bishopette Collette were crowned the legal parents of Princess Grace. The adoption is final. Whew! And I say AMEN to that. (I wore my Christmas scottie dogs Bow Tie o’ the Day to the court affair.)
So many folks who love Gracie and her parents were there at the courthouse that I didn’t even get a turn to hold her and take a bow-tied selfie of us. There was a time or two when I considered stealing Grace Anne from Travis’ mom, my SWWTRN, but I didn’t want to break the spell she’s under when she’s holding her only grandchild. I also value my limbs, so I thought it best not to disturb a grandma being a grandma.
And the second magic event? On Saturday, most of the same family/friend characters gathered at the Provo City Center Temple, where Gracie was sealed to her parents— the richly blessed Bishop Travis and Bishopette Collette. This couple counts their blessings fervently. They are grateful for the wee one they’ve been given, as are we all. One day, Gracie will surely know how blessed she is to belong to her parents. Actually, Gracie is brilliant and probably already knows she’s hit the parent jackpot.
For the second time in a week, though, I didn’t get my turn to hold baby Grace. I’m not worried. I’ll get my many turns to hog her. But outside the Temple doors, I witnessed a Mom & Dad and Grace Anne Blackwelder family photo session for all our phone cameras. It was love, and I was happy to watch it play out.
FYI I’m having issues with downloading and editing photos on the website. Sorry for the photos not sitting in the upright position. I’ll find a fix for them ASAP.
I told y’all that a bigly wall of bipolar depression fell on me a couple of weeks ago. It kept me from creating posts. I didn’t even spend time in the Tie Room. I wasn’t having fun, that’s for sure. I tell you about what goes on in my life because it’s part of my life, which is where I get my stories–good, bad, ugly, or mythical. Maybe my exploits can aid someone else. It’s all part of the TIE O’ THE DAY project. I don’t do the pity party thing, but I appreciate the concern my readers express when the posts don’t show up. I’d like nothing better than to say TIE O’ THE DAY won’t disappear again, but it will most likely happen from time to time. If you’re a longtime reader, you’ve been through it before. And the world goes on, whether I’m depressed, manic, or level–as it should. I am very well aware that I am not now, nor have I ever been the center of the universe. And thank the heavens for that! Can you imagine the fashion laws I would put into effect?!
Anyhoo…At the beginning of this last round of heavy depression, I was invited to a birthday party for Bishop Travis (really old) and Gracie (6 months). As hard as it is to believe, I did not want to go to a birthday lunch for two of my favorite people-blessings. Our group of partygoers was supposed to meet in Nephi for lunch, and I was thinking of excuses to not show up to the festivities even past the moment I crossed into the Nephi city limits. My heart was not in it. My head was not in it. My depressed spirit hurt too much with an amorphous, morbid heaviness which no one can ever explain. I’ve been down this road many times, and the only trick is to just show up. Just do it. Put on your Bow Tie o’ the Day and walk into the celebration.
We met at Lisa’s Kitchen. My hubby, Gary, and my Sister Who Wishes To Remain Nameless, brought Mom. Bishop Travis and Bishopette Collette brought their wee Grace Anne. We talked, and laughed, and ate, and couldn’t get enough of The Gracie Roadshow.
I’m glad I didn’t stay home alone. I’d like to say the birthday lunch with family restored my soul to high happiness, but that would not be true. Depression doesn’t work like that. I enjoyed myself. I hope others enjoyed me being there. But I know how depression works, and I knew not to expect bigly transformation of my sorry spirits. I did the best I could to be part of my lunch-eating family party. I’m able to appreciate the experience more and more as I gradually improve into my “level” state of mind, my normal.
The day was an incredible treat. Next, I’ll post about two more magical events of the past week.
No, I didn’t forget how much y’all need your neckwear fix, but I’ve been temporarily unable to put together even a simple post. Ralphie Tie o’ the Day is one of my super-fave neckties in my collection, and it is my gift to y’all for being patient with me.
There I was— just rollin’ along down the road o’ my life a week or so ago, when I suddenly fell into a hellish sinkhole of depression. I kid you not. One minute I’m telling Suzanne a ridiculous tall tale which was mostly true, making her laugh wine out of her nose, and— WHOMP! For no apparent reason, I couldn’t find a reason to make it through the next minute. It was an effort to want to breathe. Why does this happen? Just because. It is one of the most pernicious and terrifying mysteries I have to deal with in my bipolar brain. It is a mystery, for example, how I was able to be part of some incredible events last week, while experiencing such mental anguish. (I’ll update you on the magic events tomorrow.) I take my “right” medication as prescribed. I am blessed to have made for myself a relatively drama-free, stress-free day-to-day life. I need for nothing, material or otherwise. But sometimes extreme depression still hits me from out of nowhere like a bigly, balled-up fist. It’s pretty much in charge of me for a time. Sometimes I can write through it, and sometimes I can’t.
Years ago, I gave up trying to figure out the reason extreme depression shows up in my noggin. To live with/through it, I had to learn to not be afraid of its presence, and I had to learn to be patient until it leaves me. It will always go away. Or at least it has always gone away, so far. What scares me is that there will likely come a day when depression decides to stay with me longer than my hope and patience can fortify me. Bipolar depression is not just an illness: it is often a fatal illness. Nobody likes to think about it like that. I certainly don’t. But the suicide numbers speak for themselves. Anyhoo… I’m back at my laptop.
I’ll catch you up on the miraculous happenings I was part of last week, even as depression was my unwelcome companion everywhere I went.
Snowflakey, diamond-point Bow Tie o’ the Day displays just the right amount of chill for chillin’ with me and my pitiful innards today. My faithful Skitter is being my couch potato— actually, recliner potato— companion as well. She likes to chill with me no matter how I’m feeling, except when she’s not getting a walkie because of it. And I ain’t Skitter-walkin’ today. I’m eating seasonal Red Button ice cream. The flavors? Pumpkin Spice Cheesecake, and White Chocolate Cranberry. Cones up! My gut parts don’t feel worse than last evening, but they don’t really feel any better. I’m not worried, but I regret trying to accomplish my musical task at all yesterday. But I did what I did, and here’s the position I do be in.
Despite how it might sound, I’m not whining. I’m just sharing stuff that happens to me, because most of what I experience probably happens to you, too— in some way, shape, or form. We can commiserate with each other in our human-ness. If you’re lucky, you have friends and/or family who willingly dish out sympathy when you need it. And if the folks around you are lucky, you do that for them. And then you move on.
Commiserating is a very important activity. We need to be reassured we’re not alone in our stoopid pratfalls and lapses in judgement. We need to know we aren’t alone, especially when things that aren’t in our control shake-up our lives. We all need to remember we’re not perfect— even though we often hold ourselves and others to the idea of perfection. And we need to know it’s perfectly okay to not be perfect, as long as we’re working to be better.
I’m hoping I can get off the bench and into the action of my to-do list tomorrow. In fact, let’s all get out there and take the risk of making our own mistakes. We can commiserate about our mis-steps and lessons learned the hard way later. Or eat yummy ice cream, if you’re home alone trying not to move your entire torso.
Festive-colors Bow Tie o’ the Day is doing nothing but saying to me, over and over, “I told you so.” Yesterday, when I was tidying the garage, I came across a storage bin whose contents I’ve been meaning to get rid of for about a zillion years: music cd’s. Actually, we have two more bins full of cd’s that need to go. But I must first transfer all the tunes to the computer before I can set the cd’s out to pasture.
Anyhoo… I was all hyped up about finally getting the urge and the energy to get the de-cluttering o’ the music done. I figured if I dedicated the whole day to the project, I’d never have to spend time and effort on it again. And we’d have three fewer storage bins in the garage.
I picked up the bin and headed into the house, when suddenly… OH to the HELL NO! Something in my gut screamed at me. But did I put the bin down immediately? No. I figured I was just using a flabby, loud, muscle I hadn’t used since my Hanky Panky surgery. All this hefting and toting would surely help me get me back in shape. I figured once I got the bins o’ music upstairs to the computer, I’d just walk the strain off while I loaded music. I got a total of one of the three bins upstairs.
I have mentioned before that my IQ is kinda high. Yesterday, apparently, my IQ was missing in action. I’m human so sometimes I slip out of IQ gear, and get stuck in Stubborn gear. I blame it on an old clutch under my hood.
And that is why I am sitting in my living room on this beautiful Thursday morning doing absolutely less than nothing, and unable to get comfortable. I have things to do, people. But it is a forced Pajama Day for me.
The voting is done. The results are in. And this holiday season, instead of wearing/presenting every piece of holiday neckwear I own, I will be selecting one to wear per post. That means you will not be seeing the entirety of my Christmas collection this year. Think of it as me presenting my Greatest X-mas Tie Hits.
I’ve never not worn every piece before, so this will be a weird holiday season for me. It will be much less work for me though. And Suzanne will be happy cuz there will be fewer clumps o’ ties grouped around the house, waiting for their turn to be posed and photographed. She’ll also like that I’ll be able to set up TIE O’ THE DAY snapshots much more quickly than in past ho-ho-ho seasons. I know you will find it hard to believe, but the truth is that I can get carried away with both neckwear and writing. Put the two together, and there goes the whole day! Add Christmas season to those two things, and there goes the night too!
I must hang my head about something though. I almost lied to y’all. I thought of mis-representing the vote results and just saying most of the votes were for my wearing every last seasonal neckwear piece. Why would I feel like I should lie? Because of Joyce Moody, rebel that she is. She voted for me to wear the entire holiday collection. And hers was even the first vote— like, the second after I opened up the voting, Joyce voted to see ’em all. A lot of people voted for that, though not a majority. But it’s Joyce Moody, for golly sakes! Clearly, I would lie for Joyce. Almost. Disappointing Joyce is something which has never been anywhere close to my Bucket List.
If I remember correctly, Joyce was one of my Mutual teachers. (It could have been Sunday School, but I’m pretty sure it was Mutual.) I was probably 16 or so, and let me explain about me in high school. I didn’t wear make-up (never have), and I spent most of my time in overalls or 501’s— certainly not in a dress, if I could help it. Trust me, most of the authorities—female and male— in my life at the time were telling me to be a “real girl.” Apparently, what would have made me into a “real girl” would have been to wear make-up and dresses, and blow dry my hair into Farah Fawcett feathers. The message which I consistently got from people was that I was not enough, just being myself. Being me was not good enough. I certainly wasn’t a “real girl.” I wasn’t presentable without a coat of paint and curling iron burns on my head. Even when nothing was said to me, I saw the thumbs-down expressions of others’ faces when I’d walk into any room at school or church.
But I’d show up at Mutual in my overalls, and Joyce Moody always smiled at me like I was PERFECT. Like I was VALUABLE. Like I was IMPORTANT. Like I was ONE OF THE WONDERS OF THE WORLD. She probably saved my life. See why I considered lying about the Christmas neckwear vote, so Joyce Moody can get what she wants?
Anyhoo… Next year there will be no vote. Joyce wins already, and I’ll be wearing 300+ pieces of festive neckwear from Thanksgiving 2020 to New Year’s Day 2021 .
Tie o’ the Day— our second holiday necktie of 2019— had to be covered in Christmas kitties, to match this morning’s Christmas mutts tie. I’ll have an announcement tomorrow about my wearin’ o’ the Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa neckwear. The vote between “to wear ’em all” or “not to wear ’em all” was surprisingly close. Stay tuned.
In this morning’s post, I told you Skitter was having her teeth cleaned at the vet’s at 7:30 AM. I further told you that the skittish Skitter can’t handle being at the vet’s unless she’s under anesthesia, or is otherwise unconscious. She shakes so ferociously the animal hospital nearly crumbles.
I also told you that the vet techs always say I can’t pick up The Skit until 3PM, cuz they wanna watch her recover for a few hours from whatever procedure she’s just had. But they always end up calling me to pick her up much earlier— because they cannot stand to see Skitter shiver in fear for that long. I told y’all I figured I would get a call from the vet to come retrieve her around noon. Guess what time I got the frantic call this morning? It’s a new scared-Skitter-at-the-vet record: 10:46 AM. I had Skitter home and being blatantly miffed at me by 11.
Skitter’s still not quite herself, and I imagine it will take until at least tomorrow before she forgives me for taking her to get her teeth cleaned (and one hideous fang pulled). She’s being kinda whimpery. But it’s really her own fault. If she’d brush her teeth and floss regularly, I wouldn’t have to make major doggie dental appointments for her a couple of times a year.
The year’s first official Holiday Tie o’ the Day was easy for me to choose this morning, cuz I had to deliver Skitter to the vet for her scary teeth-cleaning appointment at 7:30 AM. When I dragged her into the vet office, the vet tech said I will be able to pick Skitter up at 3 PM. It was a new vet tech, who doesn’t know what I know has happened after Skitter’s past fang cleanings. The moment Skitter rouses from her dental procedure sleep, her trembling begins. Her shaking grows and grows and grows, until the vet office begins to vibrate. And although the vet tech told me to pick her up at 3, I can guarantee that around about noon, the same vet tech will give me a call to come and get Skitter ASAP. In a panicky voice, the vet tech will tell me the vet thinks Skitter will be better off recovering at home. Duh!
