Month: January 2020

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Absurd Happens, Again

[This is a much requested re-post of an earlier tale. I hope you enjoy it— again, or for the first time.]

Hey! Look what I rescued. It’s my ties-themed 100 oz. mini-keg, which was my go-to sip cup for a couple of years after I bought it. Although it cracked inside last year, I never had the heart to throw it out. Its flex straw had a slight crack in it too, and the lid doesn’t fit tightly either, but its tie graphics are too perfect for me. 7-11 doesn’t sell the tie design anymore, so I can’t go buy another one. What’s a girl to do with a cracked 100 oz. ties mini-keg? For the last year it’s been mocking me by sitting in the garage whining out its jealousy of my new, differently designed. I was about to finally toss the battered, cracked mini-keg over the weekend. And then I had a genius idea I can’t believe I didn’t think of last year: DUCT TAPE. I’ll tape the inside cracks and let you know how it works out.

As I searched for the duct tape, Tie o’ the Day and I were contemplating the weirdities of my life. I don’t care who you are or how straight-laced and “normal” your life has been, you’ve found yourself in surreal situations here and there, when you wonder how you got in the predicament, and how you’ll ever get out of it. You didn’t set out to be in the situation. The scenario is so outlandish you couldn’t have purposely concocted it if you had wanted to. And you’re positive no one will believe you when you tell them the story.

Because I am I, I have a zillion of ’em. Because I am I, everyone knows my improbable tales really occurred. I call these odd goings-on My Greatest Hits. One of My Greatest Hits is courtesy of the 7-11 in Takoma Park, MD, in the mid-90’s. It doesn’t star a 7-11 mini keg, just a 7-11 Super Big Gulp cup.

Interstate 95 is the main N-S route on the East Coast. The traffic usually runs at a pretty good clip. I used to drive it every school day morning from Washington, D.C. to Baltimore’s inner city where I taught middle school. My drive to work usually took about 35 minutes.

But one morning, when I was just about to exit the freeway and head into West Baltimore, all lanes of the I-95 traffic going my way came to a halt. That was rare for that particular area of the freeway. Rarer still, an hour later no vehicle had moved a centimeter. Something bigly was surely shutting down the road. (It ended up being a many-car accident.) By that time, I had been sitting in the car for more than an hour. For me, that’s venturing into MUST PEE NOW territory. I had finished my Super Big Gulp of Diet Coke, and I needed to get rid of it. I don’t mean I needed to throw away the cup. A half-hour later, all drivers were still sitting in the precise same place we first were stopped. I was beyond desperation. I had no choice except to do what I had to do.

As a middle school teacher at the time, I learned to always have back-up clean clothing in the car. Out of nowhere, middle schoolers can create unheard of messes, and it’s not uncommon for those messes to end up on the teacher— whether you were anywhere near ground zero or not. It’s nice to have clean clothes to step into. Anyhoo… In an attempt to make myself invisible in my car for a minute, I used my spare clothes to cover my front, side windows. I pulled down the visors. With my empty Super Big Gulp cup, I strategically did what had to be done. The contortionist skills I learned as a teenage mooner came in quite handy. Mission accomplished. Almost.

I extremely carefully got my pants back where they belonged. I opened my door and emptied the cup, which I didn’t want to keep in the car, but I don’t litter. I “baby wiped” my hands. (It was the pre- hand sanitizer era.) Although we drivers had all been stuck going nowhere on I-95 for almost two hours, I felt much better.

As I took my back-up clothes down from the windows, I heard a knock. I was sure it was a cop who would soon give me a ticket for Public Urination or Public Indecency or some such charge that would put me on the Sex Offender Registry. But it wasn’t a cop. It was a soccer mom from the van behind me. She asked, “Can I borrow that cup? I gotta go too.” I said, “No, you may not borrow it. You must keep it. Please, for the love of all that’s holy, keep it. Take these Wet Wipes too.”

I kid you not. Soccer Mom was not the last person to use my cup. I watched my Super Big Gulp cup and the wipes travel up, down, and across a handful of the halted lanes as we sat parked on I-95 whittling away our time in the pre- affordable cell phone era. The cup that almost ranneth over had a somewhat bonding effect on those who were there that day. That cup was the founder of a different kind of Relief Society. Those of us who got relief became friends for life, even though we didn’t talk to each other and we would never see each other again. We shared a moment.

I do not know who ended up with the Super Big Gulp cup and baby wipes.

BTW Speaking of my Delta, teenage mooning career, I once mooned a worker at the Taco Time drive-up window while driving and wearing overalls. Now that is a true and rare skill set. (Yes, young-un’s, Delta once had a Taco Time. And an A & W and an Arctic Circle.)

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Gotta Be Ready For The Show

It’s that time of year! The Oscars are only a few weeks away, so I’ve once again been trying on glamorous gowns for my walk down the Red Carpet to the Oscars ceremony. This dress feels a bit drafty, but the outfit’s headwear has me mesmerized. I don’t think I could wear the “hat” in the limousine— unless I sit directly under the limo’s open sunroof. I can totally see myself doing that.

Ruler and protractor Bow Tie o’ the Day is honored to be nominated to maybe possibly perchance be worn by me to the bigly movie star extravaganza.

I calculate that I should try on a few more gowns before making a final decision. My fashion choices are seen in my posts by hordes of important people, and I don’t want to let anyone down. I have a fashion reputation to uphold, you know. It’s exhausting to be so famous.

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Life Is A Punchline

Last weekend, Suzanne and I ventured out to a comedy show. I thought my Prince-Albert-in-a-can Bow Tie o’ the Evening was absolutely appropriate for a comedic adventure.

We all had a swell time listening to the hilarious Paula Poundstone, whose turning and twisting observations were spot-on. I went on a principled strike, refusing to take pix at the event because Paula was not wearing a tie! I have watched her perform on tv since the late 80’s, and in every performance I saw, she was wearing a tie. But on the one night I— the TIE O’ THE DAY tblogger, and constant wearer o’ ties— paid to see Paula Poundstone perform in person, she didn’t wear a tie. It broke my heart a little. But she did wear a tuxedo, and she fiddled with her collar enough when she came onto the stage that I felt like she was realizing she had forgotten to tie one on, so to speak. I forgave her, but I still didn’t take any pictures. My tie feelings were hurt, for each and every tie I own. I’m almost completely over the snub to ties everywhere.

Life can be difficult. Small things and bigly things can grab us and throw us off track. Even things we have under control can have uncertain outcomes. We stumble, we fall, we get hurt. Bad things happen to us all. Stuff happens. That’s life.

If we’re lucky folks, when we find ourselves in an existential jam, we have our people to help us out: friends, family, Good Samaritans, and dogs. And we have ourselves. We forget to tap into our strengths. Most of you are up to the task of helping others, but are you up to the task of saving yourself? The answer to our dilemmas is mostly in our ability to help ourselves. Take care of yourself every day. Be kind to yourself. You’re no good to anyone else if you’re falling apart inside and out.

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I Usually Do What I’m Told

Usually, but not always. When Suzanne goes whistling off to work on weekday mornings, her last instruction to me is almost always, “Be good.” To which I reply some snarky remark like, “If it’s your command, I guess I’ll have to try.” Or, “I’ll be better than good, I’ll be perfect” But when she told me to be good today, I said, “No. That’s all over with. No more being good for me.” There was a palpable silence as she held the door open to the garage, mostly because I never say NO to Suzanne even in jest. Suzanne was temporarily speechless, but not fazed for long. She said, “Well, just call if you need me to bail you out of jail.” And then she left, shutting the door behind her, before I could say anything in response.

I got thinking about it, and I realized Suzanne always jokes with me to be good because she pretty much assumes I’m already planning on being good— which, I admit, is true. But I’m kinda insulted that she doesn’t really think I’m capable of getting into mischief. I took that as a challenge. So what bad things did I do today?

I didn’t wear a bra. I didn’t do errands. I didn’t walk Skitter to pick up the mail. I cooked myself liver for lunch, so the house will likely still reek of the smell when Suzanne gets home. I said all the swear words I could think of, just to be really, really bad. Of course, I made sure to shut Skitter in her crate upstairs while I went downstairs to swear. Swearing in front of Skitter is a level of bad where I will never go.

The baddest thing I did today is so bad that I will undo it before Suzanne gets home: Bow Tie o’ the Day and I completed the PENCILS puzzle Suzanne and I started over the weekend. Check out those photos. To fully appreciate how bad that is, you have to understand that in our entire decades-long relationship, our puzzling partnership has evolved to seamless workmanship. There are unsaid, unwritten rules and responsibilities. I don’t know how or why the rules came into being, but I don’t mess with them. For example, I am responsible for getting the puzzle pieces spread out on the table, right-side up. I am also in charge of finding all the edge pieces, and setting them aside. Suzanne is the only one allowed to put together the edge pieces. And one of the other rules is that Suzanne gets to finish the puzzle— whether she puts in the last hundred pieces or the last three. The point is that Suzanne completes the puzzles. Always. See how bad I was today?

So I guess I can be bad if I try hard, but I am not stoopid. I will take 40 or so random pieces out of the already-finished puzzle. I will lay them out all around the table, so when Suzanne comes home from work tonight, she can relax ’round the puzzle which she will finish. Oh, happy day! And I won’t need to be bailed out of jail!

FYI Don’t worry about Suzanne finding out I actually completed the puzzle, out of my sincere attempt to be bad. She doesn’t read TIE O’ THE DAY daily. She binge-reads it when she has time, and I happen to know she’s too busy this week to read it at all. By the time she reads this post, I will have already felt so guilty about the puzzle lie, to the point that I will have already confessed to her and been forgiven. It’s all good.

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And I’m Still Counting

A few days ago, I checked in with myself. I was feeling kinda crabby, so I figured it was time to seriously ponder how blessed I really am. I started counting my blessings, and I discovered I have so many blessings that I had to take a few days off from writing TIE O’ THE DAY posts, because I have never counted that high before and it made me dizzy. That is I— discombobulated by my wealth of blessings.

My list o’ blessings begins with my mom, Big Helen. These photos were taken on my front porch in Delta. Mom would walk across the property line between us to porch. “Porch” is a verb too. Mom would sit and rule the world from the Porch at least a couple of times a day, weather permitting. Porching with Mom was a blessing of time well spent. I learned so much about her and her perspectives on her own life, as well as her take on the world. I hope she likes what she learned about me.

We told stories, joked, passed along nice gossip, and laughed. Once, we laughed so loudly and animatedly, a UPS truck stopped in my driveway. The driver— who we didn’t know— got out to ask if Mom needed help. “I sure do need help,” she said while laughing even harder, then she invited him to porch with us. Of course, the concerned UPS dude had packages to deliver, so he opted out of our invitation to porch. But he left with a bigly smile on his face.

Everyone was welcome on the Porch. A few people were officially invited to sit with us there, and they all declared their visit to be the best porching they’d ever done. They all left laughing.

The last year Mom lived in her house happened to be the last year I owned my Delta house. I was in Delta most of that year, on Mom duty. I had become the official designated driver for Mom and Peggy for their daily drinking (Pepsi) and driving. The old girls gradually became less interested in going on their routine leisurely drives around the county, so the three of us did most of our daily drinking on the porch. Two or three months before I sold my house, Mom wasn’t able to porch with us most days, so it was just Peggy and I on the porch. Porching alone with Peggy is one of my magical blessings too. We laughed, cried, and learned a lot about each other. Peggy told me things about the history of Hinckley that I’m sure Hinckley would rather I not know.

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Head Bow Ties

Head Bow Ties o’ the Day are brought to you by the one and only Grace Anne. She turned 8 months old this week, and she’s a stunner. If I could rock the head bow ties like Gracie, I would always wear one. But I’ve got a hat head, not a bow head.

For your added viewing pleasure, this post includes my fave Daddy-Gracie photo so far. Bishop Travis was a good sport about the fact that Bishopette Collette grabbed the camera and took the picture BEFORE rescuing him with the burp rag. I’m glad they have their priorities straight. The world would be poorer in spirit without this snapshot.

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My Drink Is Always With Me

Tie o’ the Day is practical, as well as stylish. Whether I’m Swiffering the floors, dusting our books, or I’m outside walking Skitter, I do a much better job if the Spirit of Caffeine is always with me. My hands are usually busy being useful or creative, so Tie is a helpful solution to my need for an occasional swig as I go about my day. And I never have to wonder where I last set down my drink. I just wish my 100 oz., 7-11 mini keg could fit in Tie’s drink holder.

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We Were All Daredevils

Tie o’ the Day is one of my bigly, fat ties. It is as wide as the Missouri River. Well, it’s 5 inches at its widest point. As bigly as Tie is, my hat is too small for my noggin. It is one of the hats Suzanne crocheted for wee kid heads. I’ll be good and not stretch it out of its usefulness just to fit my head for a TIE O’ THE DAY snapshot.

Despite my asparagus adventure which found me biking home from Sugarville after dark— and despite my two falls from the same tree when I was a kid, I was not a reckless sprite. And I was not left to run all over creation, completely unsupervised. I was simply an imaginative kid in Delta, UT in the 60’s and the 70’s. That period of time was my “back in the day.”

Many of you were there, as well. It was a time of no seat belts; no car seats; no bike helmets; and no flashing lights and automatic arms at railroad crossings.

We did have lawn darts; full gun racks in trucks; and cigarette vending machines at Top’s and the Rancher. We played dodge ball. Our water park was the flumes.

It might have been a less safe time in some ways, but I’m glad I didn’t miss it. However, when I look back at my kidhood exploits, I am amazed at the shenanigans we all survived. Think about it: What “dangerous” kidhood/teenhood adventures did you manage to survive? What do you wish your kids or grandkids could do, but is no longer possible?

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Because Falling Out Of A Tree Once Isn’t Enough

Bow Tie o’ the Day is here to say I’ve had a hankering to go fishing. I found this PRADA fishing jacket in the pages of VOGUE magazine, and as soon as I can save the $2,130. for the jacket and the $690. for the shirt, I’m definitely planning a fishing trip. The ad doesn’t say how much the boots cost, so I’ll save up an extra thousand bucks just to be sure I can afford them. Not.

Anyhoo… Without setting out to do it, I made a second “snow” angel in the earth below the tree “house,” later on during the same summer I made the infamous Tumbleweed Angel (see previous post). I was probably 6 or 7 that year. I was up in the tree sitting on the piece of wood we called a treehouse, reading WHERE THE RED FERN GROWS for the dozenth time— boo hoo-ing about the tragedies befalling the Redbone Coonhounds, Old Dan and Little Ann. I’m sure it was the bucket of tears in my crying eyes that caused me to fall back and away from the tree. For the second time.

My body wafted from the tree house, down to the vacant lot below it— where I landed in a kind of backflop. A cloud of dust rose from the ground and surrounded me. The tumbleweeds that caught me in my previous post weren’t there anymore. The vacant lot had recently been cleared and tilled. I hit nothing but overturned dirt clods. I lay flat on my back, in an indention created by my weight pushing the soft clods into the ground under me. The wind got knocked out of me in a bigly way. I thought the dust might even be smoke. It felt like I would never take a breath again. As I lay there trying to breathe, my arms flailed. I didn’t know it at the time, but I was making yet another incredible, unbelievable “snow” angel, which I will forever refer to as The Clod Angel. I was completely unharmed by my fall from the tree. Again.

Clearly, I’m protected by angels of my own making.