I am wearing my footballs-and-helmets Bow Tie o’ the Day. While it is true that I am still in my bigly bipolar funk, a response to the Super Bowl came to me immediately after the conclusion of the game. I didn’t watch the game, but I wanted Kansas City to win, so I was not a happy camper about the final score.
My response to the game is this: On behalf of the Chiefs, I will not concede the Super Bowl. It’s irresponsible to congratulate Tampa Bay this soon after the game. If you count only the legal points scored, Kansas City won. By a lot. The Buccaneers rigged the game from the start. I will exhaust every legal avenue to challenge the final score, and I’ll make the Bucs pay for it. Tom Brady and his team stole the game. KC fans are mad. KC fans don’t trust the system. Besides, the whole game was a “deep fake” and never even really happened.
And now I’m going back to my unresolved bipolarity.
With its random bandaids, Tie o’ the Day represents love and the pain love inevitably causes us. We’ve all needed to heal our hearts when they have been broken. If we allow ourselves to love, our hearts will break many times while we live. Family members and friends pass away. Our pets meet death. Maybe someone we fell in love with fell out of love with us. Maybe we lose hope, and our dreams die.
If we choose to, we can empathize with each other’s broken hearts, because most kinds of losses happen to everyone. If they haven’t happened to you yet, they will. We’re part of the human race, and our lives follow similar trajectories. Birth. Relationships. Work. Aspirations. Death.
Loving is worth any pain that might accompany it. A broken heart is often the cost of a full heart. And broken hearts can be instructive. We have the power to look inside that broken heart at all the mistakes we made which caused the heartbreak in the first place. We can learn from those mistakes, and we can get a little better at the practice of love.
Two months after Mom and Dad graduated from Delta High School, they got married in the Manti Temple. Dad had barely turned 18, and Mom didn’t turn 18 until two months later. They were youngsters. Nobody should get married that young, in my opinion. The odds of a couple that young—and, therefore, that dumb—staying together are miniscule. Mom and Dad somehow found a way to kick the odds and stick together. They lasted 59 years together before Dad died, in December 2007.
Dad suffered horrible, constant pain for the last two years of his life. He stayed with us for as long as he could—for all of us, and especially for Mom. During the last two weeks of Dad’s life, Mom often told him it was okay for him to let go. She told him she would be okay. She told him we would all take care of her. Dad knew we would. But I believe one of the reasons Dad held on for so long is that he was trying to make it another few months, to be with Mom on their 60th wedding anniversary.
Of course, no matter when Dad died, Mom’s heart was going to break anyway. And when he finally did let go, her heart did break. Thirteen years later, it’s still broken. But Mom’s heart is also still full of memories and time and the adoration Dad gave her. It’s impossible for that kind of splendid stuff to ever fall out of even the most broken heart.
[Here’s still another Valentine season re-peat post. My bipolar head is still out to lunch.]
Bow Tie o’ the Day is dressed in a field of red and white hearts on black silk. It clashes bigly with my newest cape. My heart-covered hat does some eye-popping clash as well.
As you probably guessed from the hearts on my cape’s pink side, this is my Valentine’s cape. Suzanne cut, assembled, pinned, sewed, and ironed it just for me. Just like she usually does. You know I have an obsessive hankerin’ for Suzanne-made capes. A girl can never have enough capes.
I’ve discovered that although wearing a cape doesn’t make me a superhero, wearing a cape does make me feel like I’m walking around in my blanket wherever I go. To me, that’s every bit as wonderful as being a superhero. I asked Suzanne to make me a flannel cape for extra warmth, and she’s all for it. A flannel blanket feels like home.
Especially as children, but also as adults, we have a tendency to mythologize our parents. We make them more than human. We make them bigger, smarter, funnier, braver, etc., than they really are. We think of them almost as superheroes. And that’s okay. I mean, to be fair, our parents think each of their kids is a genius, an all-state athlete, a musical prodigy, an artist, and a mythological character—all wrapped up into one snot-nosed brat.
Now, I know my parents aren’t perfect. You know your parents aren’t perfect. But they’re our parents. When we realize exactly how precious they are, their mistakes seem to recede into the horizon in our minds. Their greatest kindnesses and triumphs come to the forefront of our memories. We learn to forgive their mistakes and embrace their most excellent accomplishments. That’s as it should be.
Of course, we should try to improve on the worst qualities our parents handed down to us. And we should live by the best characteristics that live in them. We should carry their best characteristics with us always. We should tell stories and tall tales about our parents’ lives to our families and friends and whoever else will listen. That’s how we teach the important stuff forward.
Even when I’m wearing a fantabulous cape, I try to carry my parents’ best qualities with me. Perhaps one day, if somebody mythologizes me into a superhero, I’ll be able to fly in my capes.
Tie o’ the Day is one of my fave Valentine’s ties. I like the lips and hearts covering the teddy bears’ scant clothing, and of course I am enamored with the bow ties. In the photos, Mom and Dad are around 16.
My dad was a burly bear of a guy. In fact, he seemed larger than he actually was. Ronald Edmond Wright had a gigantic presence. He had the “it” factor. And he was one of the most gentle men I’ve encountered in my life. If it had been possible for him to do so, he would’ve hugged every one of his millions of bees to show them they were loved. That’s just how he rolled.
But Dad stuck to hugging Mom and us and our pets. Dad was protective of Mom in ways large and small. They were in a restaurant once, and some dudes at the next table were swearing while they talked. Dad gave them “the look.” They continued on, as if to show they’d speak any way they wanted. Dad then said as nicely as he could, while giving them “the look” again, “This is my wife, and I won’t make her to listen to that kind of language.” They continued spewing their profanity. Finally, Dad stood up. They immediately apologized and cleaned up their language. Chivalry was alive and kicking when Dad was with Mom.
I’m sure you don’t believe it, but I wasn’t a rebellious kid. I don’t think I ever had a real “fight” with Dad when I was a teenager, but I remember loudly arguing with Mom a couple of times. The arguments were about my hair, believe it or not. Mom was never happy with my hair. Well heck, I wasn’t happy with my hair either. But it’s her fault I inherited her lifeless, style-resistant locks.
Anyhoo… One day after school, Mom and I were having one of these battles, and I finally hauled off to my bedroom in tears. Dad got home from work and heard the tail-end of the yelling, as well as Mom’s version of my whole, overly-dramatic teenage outburst. After a while, he came into my room to see how I was doing. I launched into my side of things—about how Mom was always on my back, and she was always unfair, and she was always wrong, blah, blah, blah. The usual teenage crapola.
Dad listened to my tirade and let me get it all out of my system, then he said, “I love you. But no matter who is right or who is wrong, I am always on your mother’s side. I will always stand with your mother.”
At the time, what Dad said to me made me even more angry. How could “right” and “wrong” not be what matters? And then I grew up, and found myself working to forge a lasting relationship like my parents had. I now understand exactly what Dad meant about the importance of standing by your spouse, against all conflict.
[My bipolar head is still squealing, so here’s another Valentine season re-post.]
Red hearts Bow Tie o’ the Day is ecstatic to be chosen to present this picture of Mom and Dad. They were probably 15 or 16 when this photo was snapped, and I’d bet bigly money this is a selfie taken by Dad.
If you ever saw my parents together, you saw something wild with life. They played their humor off each other like a perfectly timed vaudeville comedy team. They took joy in each other’s whims. When they looked at each other from across a room, even in public, you could see absolute brightness in their eyes.
In a time when it wasn’t always socially acceptable for women to work, make important decisions on their own, and speak their minds, Dad thrived on Mom being her spunky self. He encouraged her in her endeavors, and he watched with pride as he saw her conquer thing after thing she attempted.
Once—again, way back before women were people😉—to her friends’ amazement, Mom went to the car dealership in Delta and bought a new car on her own while Dad was in California working with his bees. When she told him, during their nightly phone call, that she had picked out a car and bought it, he had no problem with it. He figured she must have needed it. They trusted each other to make bigly decisions individually, if need be, even when the decision affected the whole family.
Of course, Mom and Dad had their disagreements and bumpy times. Of course, they huffed and puffed at each other, here and there. But it was always obvious Mom and Dad were in a deep, wide, tall, true love.
There are billions of things in the universe I will never know. But I know at least this one truth: I am the daughter of a grand romance.
[My head is in a bipolar tailspin right now, for no real reason other than it’s just how my head is sometimes. Worry not. I’ve been in this state of mind before. I will probably be repeating some posts for a while. Re-posting is better for my crazy head than not posting at all. It makes me feel like I’ve accomplished something, however small. Thanks, y’all, for bearing with me.]
Tie o’ the Day is content to hang in the background, while Mom stars in this morning’s pix. These are evidence of Mom’s alluring ways. Dad was born into a beekeeping family, and bees were his thing. He was crazy for bees from the minute he could toddle. Based on that fact, I have no doubt Dad thought the photo of Mom dressed up in beekeeper attire was the sexiest of these two pictures. Mom does have nice legs though.
Dad’s family lived in Delta. Mom was from Oak City, a small town about 15 miles away. In Oak City, at that time, the kids went to school there until high school, then the Oak City-ites rode the bus to Delta High School every day. Mom and Dad didn’t know each other until that came to pass.
But they had sort of met once before high school. One summer day, Dad and his pals happened to be at the swimming pool when Mom was there with her friends. (I think it was the Oak City pool.) Mom was standing by the edge of the pool when Dad walked by and pushed her in.
Mom was ticked off, turned to her gal pals, and said, “Ignernt Delta boys!”
Dad smiled, turned to his friends, and said, “I’m gonna marry that girl.”
Tie o’ the Day is a luscious Art Deco print. My harlequin Cape o’ the Day was made by Suzanne, as per usual. Suzanne is feeling under the weather, so she took the day off to sleep. I have neither seen nor heard her stir all day. I have done my best to not wake her. I have purposely made nary a noise or spectacle of myself, which is difficult for me to do, in general. I’ve simply worn Tie and pantomimed through my entire day in the house, while wearing my cape—without even once narrating what goes on in my head to Skitter, which is how I usually move through my day. Skitter probably thinks I’m giving her the proverbial silent treatment, which, I suppose— technically—I am. But the silence is for a good cause, which I will certainly explain to the mutt after Suzanne finally wakes up from her soporific state of being.😴
Bow Tie o’ the Day sports molecules, and Face Mask o’ the Day is covered in mathematical symbols. Chemistry and math have never been great areas of interest to me. I do know enough about each to respect and appreciate those who work in fields requiring a keen understanding of each. Personally, most of my high school and college math was unnecessary for the needs of my adult life. Honestly, all I’ve ever needed to do is add and subtract from whatever amount is in my bank account. And the reality of that is that I mostly subtract. I know I am not alone in this.
So why molecule Bow Tie and math Face Mask? That’s easy. I am a chimpanzee when it comes to my clothing and accessories. Like a chimp, I am all about bright, shiny, busy things. I am distracted to the point of attraction to them.
BTW Yes, as you can see in the background of the photo, our Chuck Brown Christmas trees are still atop Suzanne’s Ultimate SewingBox. We are thinking about keeping them there year-round, where we can see them every day.
Face Mask o’ the Day looks like I was marauded by a wandering band o’ paintballers. I think designs resembling paintball splotches are almost always a good look. And, like paisley and polka dots, the argyle design—here, on Tie o’ the Day—is a perpetual eye-grabber. Be ye cautious, however. Do not underestimate the powers of these designs. In the wrong hands, some patterns can overpower entire personalities, leaving you alone and adrift on the sea o’ fashion. Do not wear patterns that your spirit can’t live up to. That’s a key to any style you choose to wear: it must fit your authentic self. If it fits you, it works for you. If you try to project something you aren’t, you will downright disappear behind your attire. Disappearing behind your clothes is a good thing, only if you’re a spy—and most of us aren’t James Bond. Dress accordingly.
[I re-post this at the request of a reader who asked if I would “post the one about your fight with Suzanne and the roll of toilet paper.” After searching my post database, I’m confident this is what the reader was referring to. (Notice that I was wearing my grapes Bow Tie o’ the Day in the photo, which was in another post only a few days ago.) The following post hails from August of 2018, a few weeks after my bigly pancreas surgery—during which time Suzanne pestered me relentlessly about my not lifting anything, so I wouldn’t pop open my incision or otherwise damage my recuperating self. Enjoy, or re-enjoy this old post.]
Bow Ties o’ the Day had a fantastic time at Cafe Niche for Sunday brunch. As you can see, Suzanne wanted to get in on the bow tie act. We donned our bow tie bibs for the feast because we were famished, and we were afraid we might eat sloppily. The bow ties on each bib did a perfect job of keeping our clothing from being defaced by our lack of delicate eating. And bigly Bow Tie o’ the Day presents its grapes—Mormon grapes for Sunday, I’m sure.
Brunch can have a calming effect. I recommend it when you’re stressed out or tense. Suzanne and I stressed ourselves out by having a little tiff last night—over nothing of any real importance. But the tiff happened, and the tiff went on in silence, right on into today.
In the middle of the night when I had to potty, I ended up using the last few squares on the toilet paper roll. There was a new roll on the bathroom vanity, three inches from the tp holder. Normally, of course, I’d change out the rolls—no matter what time of the middle of the night it was. But I was still miffed about our earlier tiff, and there was no way in heck I was gonna politely take the old roll off and put the new one on. Nope. Suzanne was gonna have to do it herself the next time she needed to potty. (That’ll teach her!) And do you know what I thought in my tiff-miffed head as I walked back to bed? I thought with great sarcasm, “Well, she told me I wasn’t allowed to lift anything, and I’m sure that includes a roll of toilet paper.” And I sooo wanted her to say something to me about the tp roll incident this morning, so I could say the same snotty thing right to her precious face. But she didn’t mention it, on purpose, I’m sure. And then we went to brunch, and everything got forgiven and forgotten.
