It began innocently enough. Yesterday, I was vegetating in front of the television, trying my best to do as little as possible on the Sabbath. Suddenly, my phone dinged at me from across the room. The specially assigned ringtone told me, even before I looked at my phone, that it was a message from Collette, Gracie’s mom. I checked my phone and found Co had sent me a couple of pictures of Miss Grace being both busy and dandily outfitted. Sure enough, y’all can see that Gracie has tights with bow tie designs running down the sides. Not only are these leggings cool, but they are so cool that I must find some for my own white chicken legs. I haven’t been able to think of anything else since I saw them. I have spent hours yesterday and today rooting around on eBay and amazon to find a pair for me, but to no avail thus far. Still, I will not give up. I don’t have to own every last thing with a bow tie on it that I judge to be groovtastic, but I simply must find a pair of these tights in my size! These, I must have. These, I must wear.
You know, it occurs to me that even in the bow tie way of life which I preach daily, it’s true: a little child shall lead them. Thanks for the fashion guidance, wee Gracie.
I kill plants dead. It’s just a fact of my life. It doesn’t matter how hearty a plant might be, or how to-the-letter I follow plant care instructions. If I have a plant to take care of, it dies much sooner than later. You’ll find no green thumbs on my paws. Luckily, I learned this factoid about myself in my kidhood, which has caused me to remain mostly plant-free throughout my adult life. In the 70’s, I stuck with pet rocks, and not one of them died. I was successful with rocks.
Every now and then, someone who doesn’t know I have black thumbs has unfortunately gifted me a plant. And on occasion, I have thought, “Well, maybe I can keep this one alive. I’ll try again.” So I water it, and nurture it, and make sure the plant is situated in the right amount of light. It inevitably ends badly for all parties involved. Most of the time, when I have received vegetation as a gift, I have had the good sense to hand it right off to anyone who is not me. The plants thrive under someone else’s care.
Suzanne has our abode stocked to the gills with plants, and they prosper. They surround me, and yet my black thumbs somehow aren’t deadly to them. How can this be? Well, I follow a strict policy with Suzanne’s houseplants: I act as if they don’t exist. I never talk to them, nor do I make eye contact with them. I certainly don’t try to care for them. So far, pretending the plants don’t exist has insured their continued existence. I know and accept my limitations, which is the beginning of sincere humility. Many plants lost their lives to teach me this lesson.
I am eagerly awaiting the delivery of more golf pants. Until more show up, I’ve been experimenting with the one pair I have. This outfit was a hit at Harmon’s this morning. Apparently, if you’re wearing golf pants while grocery shopping, people want to nod at you like they know you. At least, that was my experience today. Later, I had to run an errand at Walmart. As is usual, at Walmart—no matter what I wear—I am usually the most flamboyant dresser in the store (though not in a People of Walmart sort of way). Such was the case at Wally’s today. Score!
Tie o’ the Day is covered in patterned patches of paisley, in rich blue hues. I threw blues all over me today just because I felt like it. I am convinced I have always felt a solid kinship with various shades of blue because they are the first colors I learned to love: When I was a wee babe, I fell into an abiding love with the blue hues of my parents’ eyes. 👀
I’ve been feeling a bit “meh” about my style lately. I’ve been feeling the need to make a drastic change. Like the Baby Boomer that I am, I have been—and will always be—a jeans chick at heart. Jeans are my uniform. Jeans are my second skin: I am at home in a worn pair of Levi’s. But my legs have been itching for the occasional foray into new territory. I am always happy to oblige my legs, since they do such a fine job of getting me hither and yon. And so I spent some time scouring the websites for new and exciting pants. I wanted something off-beat and zany, of course—to not-fit in with the rest of my wardrobe. After a relatively short search, I found exactly what I was aiming for. I found loud pants. And how did I discover them so quickly? Well, the late Payne Stewart came to my mind. I googled the term “golf pants” and I was directed to the equivalent of Loud Pants Heaven—as in, a boatload of sites selling eye-catching golf trousers.
Red hanky-esque Tie o’ the Day is proud to present my very first ever pair of official golf pants. Yes, I have ordered more. The eye-catching, eye-assaulting new possibilities have jump-started my fashion passion, and my neighborhood will never be the same. 2022 “clashion” is gonna be sweet. As a precaution, please wear shades. 😎
CTR is shorthand for “choose the right.” It’s a Mormon mantra I learned in my kidhood. It has served me well throughout my life to take that extra few seconds to ask myself, “What’s the right thing to do?” Sometimes even a loud, red Tie o’ the Day like this one can have a tough time deciding what’s right and what’s wrong. Decisions can get complicated when real-life context comes into play. However, I do believe sometimes there is an obvious right and an even obvious-er wrong.
For example, at the grocery store, I came across this new twist on an already perfect candy bar, and I was shocked and appalled!* Let me be very clear: POTATO CHIPS IN A REESE’S PEANUT BUTTER CUP IS WRONG!!!!! It is a sacrilege to both the potato chips and the Reese’s. What kind of person thought this debauched confection was “right” for the world? I am certain that nobody associated with the production, distribution, and marketing of this ill-conceived concoction is going to any Heaven I’ve ever heard of! The very existence of such a candy bar defies common sense. Those consumers who partake of this monstrosity will pay for their sin by experiencing their own digestive Hell as they eat it! Can you hear me?
Now, I know we each probably have at least one weird food combination in our own palate’s repertoire—and that’s ok. As far as I’m concerned those odd taste proclivities are personal and should remain behind closed doors. To publicly sully a candy perfection like a Reese’s is sinful. Likewise, a potato chip is equally sanctified in its own salty perfection, too. Don’t be gluttonous and mess with perfection! Enjoy the perfect state of both goodies, but not in the same treat. Together, they ruin each other. Some goodies work together, but some combinations result in degradation. It is my snacky opinion that this mix is “wrong.” Somebody wasn’t paying attention in Primary when they were supposed to be learning their CTR. Here, “right” matters.
End of rant.🤠
* “shocked and appalled” is meant for Jane E. Holman, who I hope remembers why we laughed at the phrase decades ago.
A couple of days before Christmas, Suzanne and I celebrated our 8th legal Anniversary. We had reservations for a frou-frou dinner at Log Haven, up Millcreek Canyon. I did something I don’t normally do, in terms of my attire: for Suzanne, I matched my bow tie and face mask. I decided a wedding anniversary was worthy of wearing my out-of-season, Valentine-themed BE MINE Bow Tie o’ the Day and Face Mask o’ the Day—instead of Christmas-themed neckwear. I also wore my “mrs.” Cufflinks o’ the Day.
We dined on swordfish, which was a first for both of us, and we liked it. Suzanne ordered a bottle of wine she said was dreamy, which she let me smell for a ridiculously long time. I can attest that it did, in fact, smell dreamy as could be. As we ate dinner, we engaged in a deep conversation about the nearly 40 years we have known each other. Through the restaurant’s bigly windows, we watched the trees as it began to snow. The snow continued to gradually layer itself outside, and when we drove back down the dark canyon headed for home, everything surrounding us was covered with a thick quilt of sparkling grey-white. It was a slow drive down the canyon, and the scene was storybook magnificent. The cold magic of the landscape cradled us as we drove, and I felt like we had somehow transformed from our mortal world existence into a state of pure metaphor—if only for a small and perfect moment.
Tie o’ the Day is worn by the amazing President Travis. I am proud to call him my nephew for many reasons, one of which is that he regularly wears classy ties. Here, his choice o’ tie echoes the Divine Miss Gracie’s dress. Gracie’s face shows how much she adores her dandy daddy. Her school picture says she’s ready to take on the world of academia. I love these people.
We had a theatrical night on the town last week when we went to see HAMILTON again. Before the show, we ate a luscious dinner at Tin Angel, which is located inside the Eccles Theater building. Suzanne ordered wild salmon, while I got the encrusted braised spare ribs. For dessert, we split a slice of spiced pumpkin roll filled with cream cheese frosting, and covered in caramel and chocolate. Yes, it was yummy.
Y’all might recall that we had first seen HAMILTON a couple of years ago, after which I gave my review in a TIE O’ THE DAY post. My review was simply this: “It was a little too sing-y and dance-y for my taste.” The truth is, that’s my review for almost all musicals. I can appreciate a well-done musical production, but I’m partial to plain old words. I prefer the spoken word on the stage. Having said that, I will admit that I enjoyed HAMILTON tremendously this time around. The first time I saw it, my brain was filled with all the excessive hype about it. This time, I knew what I was in for, and I could simply watch without any expectations. HAMILTON was still too sing-y and dance-y for my taste, but as I sat in my seat and let the show just wash over me, I was enthralled. I had a good time.
Because I am who I am, Suzanne must always have her antenna up for any sign of my misbehavior. The Eccles Theater ushers carried little “please, wear your mask” hand-held signs. If an audience member were to remove their mask during the production, an usher was supposed to quietly walk up to the maskless person and politely wave the sign in front of their face. I wanted so badly to take a photo of it happening to someone, but everyone in the audience was good and kept their masks on. As the night wore on, Suzanne could feel me wanting nothing more than to lower my mask, for the sole purpose of having an usher shove a sign in my face, so I could snap a photo of it happening. I don’t know exactly how she knows when I’m plotting to be bad, but she does. She gave me “the look,” and I immediately abandoned any plans I had for misbehaving with my face mask.
Face Mask o’ the Evening was covered in X-mas holiday mutts. I exercised my right to be thematically appropriate by wearing a jumbo Bow Tie o’ the Day depicting The United States Constitution. It was a spot-on choice for HAMILTON. Oddly, not one person who saw me at the theater mentioned my Constitutional bow tie. Nor did they comment on the funeral potatoes 2002 Olympic pin I wore in my lapel. But do you know what part of my attire I was explicitly complimented on by a number of folks throughout the evening? It was my green Nike golf hat! One woman told me the hat looks good on me and that I wear it well—whatever that means. Yeah, my thirty-year-old, seen-in-post-photos-all-the-time hat got more compliments than my incredibly cool and infrequently worn U.S. Constitution Bow Tie got. And while at HAMILTON, to boot! Weird.
I enjoyed HAMILTON more the second time around.My lapel pin is a 2002 Olympic pin depicting funeral potatoes.At Tin Angel, I had the braised short ribs in a pastry, atop mashed potatoes.Suzanne patiently waits for her wine to show up.My over-tired Saddle Purse fell asleep before the production had even begun.
One day last week, we headed to Delta to spend some time with Mom at Millard Care and Rehab. For the trip, I donned my Santa-hatted scottie dog Bow Tie o’ the Day. I wore a Christmas-camo Face Mask o’ the Day as well.
Mom was in fine form while we were there. Her humor remains intact, as does her feistiness. The details of her stories change or sometimes get completely lost, but the gist of each story still comes through loud and clear. She is, as always, a ball of fun and generosity. As Suzanne and Skitter and I were leaving her, we walked Mom to the care center’s beauty shop, so she could get her hair done. I mask-kissed Mom and told her I loved her, and I thanked her for everything. I thanked her for my whole life. As I turned to leave her, she said to me, “You’re a good daughter.” And, like the smart-ass she taught me to be, I said, “Well, I’ve always tried to stay out of jail for you as much as I could.” She winked at me and she thanked me for that. We left each other laugh-crying—just as it should be.
Howdy! TIE O’ THE DAY is back in session. I will catch y’all up on some of the more memorable of my recent time-off escapades, so stay tuned for more holiday-ness over the next few posts.
These photos are from a brief—but rejuvenating—meet-up I was able to have with my oldest sister, BT/Mercedes, and her hubby, Nuk. As far as my attire goes, for the meet-up, I stayed with the colors of the Christmas season by wearing one red Sloggers shoe and one green Sloggers shoe. I also wore my seasonal wintry cape, which was made by Suzanne. In contrast, I added a non-holiday pink cravat as my Tie o’ the Day for the occasion.
As per usual, BT/Mercedes and I met-up at Barnes & Noble in Layton. We didn’t go inside, but Mercedes and I devour books like the world ends at midnight, so Barnes & Noble is a both a convenient and symbolic spot for us to meet. BT brought some goodies she wanted me to take to Mom when I drove down to Delta the next day, and I had a pile of books for BT which I thought she might like to scour through. We made the swap in the parking lot, where we had a gabfest in the cold. BT just had to read the bumper stickers on my car, and then she said to me, “You’re just like me, only funner!” Trust me—she’s a mega-fun person, in her own right. I learned much about how to entertain others from her. She’s the firstborn. I am the baby of the family, who showed up 15 years after her. As I have probably said about us before, we are exactly the same person—except for the million significant ways we differ from each other. I do think we make a swell set of bookends (and bookworms) for the family, though. 📚📖
