Month: June 2020

Posted on

I Do Believe I’m Back. Cross Fingers. Knock On Wood.

Magnetic LEGO Bow Tie o’ the Day heralds my most recent return from the city of Bipolarville, in the great state of Extreme Depression. Told ya I’d be back. This is a recent photo of me in my Face Mask o’ the Day, hanging out in the flag section of the Parrish Lane Walmart—prepping for the upcoming Fourth of July celebration.

I woke up yesterday morning wishing someone would write me an utterly frivolous TIE O’ THE DAY post to make me laugh, then I realized it’s my job to write said posts. So there I was… staring at Skitter’s hairy hip mole, eating a soda cracker, and casually letting some possible tblog ideas percolate in my crazy brain. I was getting nowhere fast—when suddenly my phone honked at me and announced the caller was Mercedes.

I call her Mercedes, but most of y’all know her as my oldest sibling, Betty or BT. She has been a faithful reader of my neckwear posts since TIE O’ THE DAY was nothing more than a bigly group text. Mercedes called to check in on how her bipolarly-benched little sister is doing, AND—most importantly 😜—to check on when the heck TIE O’ THE DAY posts would be returning to social media.

I can affirm that at the very beginning of our conversation, I could hardly form sentences without great physical, cognitive, and emotional effort. The inability to think and speak easily is one of the main symptoms of my extreme bipolar depression. But by the end of the phone call, we were both heartily cackle-laughing about a smorgasbord of current events, human foibles, and what I will refer to as “Mom stories”—as in, stories starring Mom. Pick an event, pick a topic. If Mom was part of it—or even has an opinion about it—there’s sure to be a full-blown, repeatable, mostly family-friendly story to tell for generations to come. Mom and her escapades are the gift that keeps on giving. I felt demonstrably better during and after my phone call from my bigliest sister.

Don’t misunderstand me. I’m not saying Mercedes cured my depressive swing. Nor am I saying that stories about Mom conquered my bipolar speed bump. Oh, that it were so! If BT and Mom were the cure for bipolarity, I’d take our Two-Helen’s-and-a-Mercedes act on tour from town to town, and the three of us would make a bigly bucket o’ bucks rescuing folks from their own brain chemistry. Although it was not a fix-it, yesterday morning’s phone conversation with my biggest sister clearly lit an oomph-spark under my TIE O’ THE DAY muscle. If you’re sad to see I’m back, feel free to blame my Mercedes. Or Mom. Mom has given me permission to blame her for everything. I’m sure she’ll happily let you blame her for everything too.

BTW I’m so madly in love with the “Raised in a BARN” cap I got in Arkansas last summer. Out of all my hats, I find it is my go-to hat during these bipolar-y, pandemic-y, protest-y days. I just keep putting it atop my noggin, day after day. Its attitude fits me perfectly right now. Perhaps it’s a rapid-cycling bipolar thing. Perhaps it’s a redneck thing. I don’t know why, but it’s currently my thing.

Posted on

We Interrupt TIE O’ THE DAY For An Important Message

My new magnetic wood Bow Tie o’ the Day’s design reminds me of an abacus. As far as face masks go, this paisley Face Mask o’ the Day is luscious with its rich hues. Think of a mask as just one more clothing accessory through which you can express your inner whatever-ness you might want to share with the masses. Masks might become a staple in my dressing style if I can keep finding funky ones.

Hey, folks! Y’all are so good to me. If I don’t post for more than a couple of days, some of you message me with concerns about my well being (I’m ok.) or to make sure Mom’s still thriving in MCR lockdown (Mom continues to entertain the troops.). I appreciate your humanity. This tblog is about much more than neckwear, and y’all truly understand that. So thanks.

I haven’t been able to write a cogent post for the last five days. This post is your FYI that I need to take some more time off. Yes, it’s because of my stoopid bipolar head. I can never predict when my head is going to bench me or for how long. No worries. I will be okay. As you longtime readers know, this is routine for me, and I learned a long time ago to not panic about it. I tread water through my head’s craziness, and the crazy eventually subsides. I’ve temporarily disappeared from here before, and I’ll likely have to do it again. That’s just the chemistry of my brain. Rest assured that TIE O’ THE DAY will return as soon as it can. Could be in a day, in a week, or in 15 minutes. Thanks for your concern and for your patience. When I can rein in my brain again, I shall resume my mission of spreading the ties-and-kindness gospel while making a clown of myself for y’all. Be good.

Posted on

Dad And I Show Off

See Dad’s superhuman strength. See my bigly diaper-butt reflected in the mirror. See me not wearing a bow tie. Sing with me: “He’s got the whole baby…in his hand…He’s got the whole baby…in his hand…”

Posted on

Hello. My Name Is… Helen AND Eileen

[Recently, an old friend/new reader of TIE O’ THE DAY asked me to explain why my first name and my middle name seemingly switched places at some point in my life. This answer below is based on a post I wrote here about my name a few years ago.]

Helen A. Wright and Helen E. Wright star in these two slide pix. My full, legal name is—and always has been—Helen Eileen Wright, and until I graduated from DHS and left Delta, I went by the name Eileen. For whatever reason, my family called me by my middle name, so that’s what everyone else called me.

When I had to begin filling out all the paperwork that comes with being an adult—like college applications, job applications, rental applications, my passport application, etc.—it was so complicated to keep using my middle name as my first name, because my Social Security card had my “real” name on it. So I gradually became a Helen. I also have been referred to as far back as high school as Helen, Jr., Li’l Hel, H. E., Helen E., and prob other variations I can’t recall right now. I’ve been known as Helen for much longer than I was Eileen, so it’s almost impossible for me to think of me as anything but a Helen. I’m perfectly cool with whatever you’re comfortable calling me.

When the switch happened, I found that I liked wearing the name “Helen” better than “Eileen.” Nobody ever got the spelling right on Eileen. Helen was more me-ish. And what I liked most about making the change to my official first name was that there aren’t many women who have their mothers’ first names. More women should. I’m glad I do. I have always looked up to Mom, so her name was something I’ve strived to respect. It’s inspired me to be more like her. Wearing her name has definitely made me a better woman than I would have been otherwise.

What this whole name thing means is that I’ve had a childhood name and an adult name. Depending on what name you use to address me, I know—and everybody else around me knows—whether you first knew me when I was a kid, or whether you discovered me as an adult.

When my parents were trying to come up with a name for me, they were stumped. I was almost named Melanie. And then I was almost named Rhonda—so they could fit yet another “Ron” into the family. They settled on the name of one of Mom’s nurses, who was such a key part of Mom’s touch-and-go recovery from my birth, Eileen Boothe. If Mom needed anything, Eileen made sure she was taken care of. Mom had nearly died giving birth to me. Dr. Bird had to give her a half-dozen blood transfusions, and he told her, “No more babies, Helen.” (And then Dad had a little operation, if ya know what I mean. 😉)

Anyhoo… Dad was giving me my baby blessing in church, and when he got to the naming part, he gave me Mom’s first name, as my own first name. “Eileen” would be my middle name. Mom was surprised. They had never talked about doing that. After he’d blessed me with her name, he told Mom he figured she’d had such a difficult time delivering me into the world that she deserved to have me named after her. I’m grateful he did that. I try to honor her name, knowing I will forever fall short. But I try.

Posted on

These Boots Are Made For Walkin’

The boot laces are tied, which is all that is necessary to qualify this slide pic o’ me for Tie o’ the Day. I swear I can remember standing in our front yard in the sun while these pix were taken. The date on the slide is April 1967, making me a total of 3. The boots are not small enough to be mine, and not bigly enough to be Dad’s, so they must belong to one of my siblings. Clearly, even in my wee beingness I had already confidently started my amazing career as a bold fashionista rebel. I just hadn’t figured out the bow tie gimmick yet.

Posted on

Now, You Can’t Say You’ve Never Seen Me In A Dress

Y’all will be glad to know I ordered a gadget to help me digitize and clean up all these ancient slides I recently discovered. As soon as it gets here, the slide photos I post will be more seeable. TIE O’ THE DAY anecdotes based on the slides will improve lickety-split.

This afternoon, I’m too exhausted to even attempt a real story. I have not stopped erranding since Suzanne left for work this morning. What have I been doing? Well, I finally got Skitter’s new trailer attached to my bike, and I’ve been practicing making turns without turning over either the trailer or the bike, or both. I think I’m confident enough about safely dragging Skitter around in her new RV to actually take her on a trek early tomorrow before the heat hits.

Since I had to drive the car around in the pandemic world, in order to accomplish most of the tasks on my Honey-Do list, I grabbed a sandwich at the Chick-fil-A drive-up, where I learned cash money is no good. Only plastic money is accepted.

I then drove my car full o’ donations to the Bountiful Deseret Industries, only to find that right now you have to make an appointment to drop off your donations. I have an appointment there for sometime next week. I then checked in with the tattoo place I want to use, at which shop I learned I am required to make an appointment to make an appointment. ‘Tis true.

And then I went to Best Buy at Station Park to get the slide digitizer I mentioned earlier, so I could begin using it today. But you have to have an appointment to stand outside the store’s door and tell them what you need. You can’t go inside even if you have an appointment. You can make an appointment at Best Buy to pick up whatever you buy from them online and have shipped there. Why the heck would you have something shipped to Best Buy for you to make an appointment to pick up, instead of just having it shipped to your house? I decided it was better to not even ask the question out loud. I walked back to my car.

Anyhoo…I drove home and ordered the gadget online. But I had kinda hit my top nerve as far as not being able to actually finish any of my errands today, so I decided to just order the gadget through Amazon, and prime can deliver it right to my front door sometime next week. Errand done. With my current erranding luck, I fully expect the slide converter gadget will probably be delivered at the exact same time I have my appointment to drop off donations at D. I.—and the package will either require my signature before it can be left on the porch, or a package thief will pilfer it from my front porch before I arrive home in my donation-empty car.

Just sayin.’

Posted on

Hold The Musty, Dusty Slides Of Yore!

Here at TIE O’ THE DAY, we try to not go too gaga over tieless supermodels—even when they turn out to be our Gracie—but when these photos showed up on my iPhone this morning, I knew we would drop whatever current projects and posts we’re working on, and go all-Gracie. I learned two major things about this young lady-whippersnapper from these pictures: 1. Gracie’s enthusiasm for mac ‘n’ cheese allows her to create smile-worthy performance art. 2. Gracie “cleans up real good,” as they say. I never doubted my grandniece would have these two important skills.

Posted on

I Am Not The Doll You See Here

Mom made a gaggle o’ dolls over the years, but the one in this slide was not one of them. I was not yet born when this photo op came to pass. Since my Sister Who Wishes To Remain Nameless (SWWTRN) is holding the doll, I’m assuming it was hers. Perhaps she was channeling my future earthly birth with me while I was still in the Pre-existence. C’mon—it could have happened. Notice that my sisters have both donned long Bow Ties o’ the Day for what the date on the slide indicates was Christmas of 1958.

Dad’s a looker, eh? In my mind’s eye, Dad always has his Sean Connery beard—even though this shows me to be wrong. Come to think of it, Mom started making dolls about the same time Dad grew his signature beard—sometime in the 80’s. Perhaps that was how they each dealt with their newly empty nest and their proverbial mid-life crises. I dunno. I just know that in the 80’s, Dad’s beard sprouted its salt-and-pepper glory, and plaster doll parts were perpetually scattered throughout flat surfaces in the house, in their various stages of doll-completion.

FYI Here’s the birth order of my siblings and I, for anyone who might be wondering: Betty (front); SWWTRN (back); Ron (front, middle); Rob (on Dad’s lap); a bigly time-gap (a true pregnant pause); then, yours truly.

If you ever want to rile up Mom, just tell her I said I know I was an accident. She does not abide that “accident” talk about me. I can usually get her calmed down about it by explaining I meant to say I was more of an “afterthought.” At 89, Mom still shines with her comebacks. Not too long ago when I was egging her on about the topic, she said, “An afterthought? I should say not! There was no thought after.” And then I said, “Mom, get your mind out of the gutter, so mine can roll by!” We continued the back-and-forth, and we laughed until I lost my breath and had to take a hit off her oxygen mask. We are soooooo related. We are The Two Helen’s! Vaudeville is our next stop.

BTW Mom doesn’t really have an oxygen tank. It just made the story better to paint a picture of me stealing the old gal’s oxygen. Note to self and others: The key to telling good stories is to never let the truth get in the way—as long as you fess up to it later.

Posted on

Meanwhile, In Dad’s Rocking Chair…

TIE O’ THE DAY presents a rare sight. Here I am in a diaper, without any kind of tie, AND I am sound asleep. Those three planets haven’t aligned since this slide was snapped.

I’ve always had trouble sleeping, even as a wee sprite. In fact, I think I may not really be bipolar. I think it’s entirely possible my extremely moody brain activity is simply a result of the insomnia I’ve had for the last 50 years. I declare in all honesty that if it would help me sleep at night, or any other time, I would gladly go back to wearing diapers.

But not the cloth kind, as shown in the photo. Nope.