Month: June 2022

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To New Truck, Or Not To New Truck

Fer cute! Bow Tie o’ the Day is one of my fancy bow tie paperclips. 📎

Remember the new truck I ordered after Thanksgiving? I certainly do. I daydream about it a dozen times each day. After a couple of please-be-patient emails from Ford since then, informing me they haven’t built my Maverick yet because they’re still waiting for some of the components, I got an email yesterday that told me it’s likely my 2022 truck might not be able to be put together at all—because of those still-not-delivered components. Ford gave me some choices, none of which I’m fond of.

  • 1. If I want to cancel my order altogether, they will return my deposit. We part ways. No new Maverick. I start the my new vehicle hunt all over again.
  • 2. I can change my original truck order to not include the components Ford can’t get. Even if I drop all the extras, they still can’t guarantee my 2022 truck can be created in 2022.
  • 3. For any inconvenience I’ve endured, Ford will give me some incentives to switch my order to a 2023 model, with all the same extras I ordered for the 2022. I’m sure the price will be higher, and who knows if Ford will be able to get the same components I originally ordered for the 2022 model, in time to put together my 2023 model. Also, If I choose to switch to the 2023 model, I can’t even actually place that order until August, because Ford isn’t taking any orders from anybody for the 2023 Maverick until that time.

I am severely heartbroken about this automobile situation. Fortunately, my happiness has never been vehicle-centered. To me, a vehicle has one purpose: to get you from one place to another. If a vehicle does that reliably, I’m good with whatever it is. (Okay, I’m really a lot pickier than that. But not much.) But, ladies and gentleman and those who aren’t sure, I am smitten by this truck. I must have it. Part car, part truck: it’s like it was made for me. Tonight, I have to make my decision. I must ponder and figure and come up with my final answer. I can’t wait to see what I decide. 🤔

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Awake. Woke. Enlightened. And Proud To Be.

I have always been a fan of the audacious, the eloquent, the visionary—the extraordinary and unexpected stuff of the world. But I also have an abiding love of the routine, the ritual, and the everyday. Most of us build lives out of both what makes us comfortable and what challenges us—by what we understand and by what makes us wonder. Our tendency is to vividly remember—and to talk about—the surprises that we encounter, but be all ho-hum about the bulk of our everyday living. Last night as I got ready for bed, for some unexplicable reason, I reveled in the routine litany of bedtime tasks to do before turning off the light. I felt almost gleeful about going through the ritual formalities of preparing to simply go to sleep. Every bedtime to-do seemed almost magical. I was paying attention to the customary, and it felt anything but dull. The very sound of Suzanne brushing her teeth in the bathroom brought me an important peace. And as I pulled a clean t-shirt over my shoulders before I crawled into bed, I realized that putting on a fresh t-shirt is one of the most amazing everyday feelings a person can enjoy. It requires only the act of paying grateful attention to what you’re doing.

During the night, a bold rain began to fall. We were sleeping with the windows open, and I listened intently as the rain pelted the deck for twenty minutes, then abruptly ceased. I smelled the petrichor. I felt the change in humidity on my skin. I counted what seemed like one solitary minutes-long flash of lightning. It was all normal, regular summer stuff I could have just as easily slept through. Most of the time, I do. But I woke up for it and paid attention to it. And that has made all the difference. I can already tell that it has made all the difference in this regular day I am just now beginning. A regular day I am spending in yet another clean t-shirt, with yet another magnetized t-shirt Bow Tie o’ the Day. How fabulous is this routine?!

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A Fave Quote About How To Live A Good Life

Sometimes a stray Primary song wafts its way through my brain, and I mine its lyrics to find stalwart shards of wisdom. Do not be dissuaded from paying keen attention, by the fact that a message hails from a mere children’s song: simplicity can often rule the day. In any situation, there is always time and space to heed this tiny nugget with huge implications. I hope you can memorize it for future use. Here it is:

“Give”

—a profound quote from the little stream

I most assuredly cannot improve on that directive for us all, which comes straight from the water’s mouth. 🌊 (Pretend the emoji is a stream, not a tsunami.)

FYI If you don’t “get” this post, ask a Mormon.

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Emergency!

I was all set up to construct a full-blown TIE O’ THE DAY selfie and tale. My laptop was open and possible post ideas were parading through my brain, when I made the mistake of casting my gaze towards the mountains. This is what I saw. No, it’s not raining. It’s not foggy or smoggy either. Clearly (pun intended), our windows are in dire need of a thorough cleaning. I have surely shirked my window-cleaning duties. Bad housewife! It’s odd how things like this sneak up on you. The windows are fine, fine, fine—and all of a sudden, they more closely resemble privacy glass. I swear the windows were clean yesterday, but of course they must not have been. Once you see the problem, you can’t un-see it. And so, I am compelled to put thoughts of neckwear away right now. I must scrub the windows until I can once again see the obvious mountains so near our abode. They are pretty bigly things to not be able to see. ⛰

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Doesn’t Surprise Me

Recently, Suzanne threatened to make me a new cape. She didn’t actually say she was going to sew one for me. She simply laid out the fabric and put the pattern on top of it. That was a week ago, and since then, Suzanne has not gone near the project. Now, the cape-in-process just lays there, all stretched out and staring at me—looking exactly the same as the day it was set out. I’m beginning to feel it’s mocking me. It seems to taunt me every time I walk past it. It just lays there, like a smooth trophy pelt from some fabric beast Suzanne slayed on a hunting trip to a fabric store—which is exactly what it is. Often, I hear it calling to me like a bratty child: “I’m not your cape yet! I’m not your cape yet! I’m still not your cape. Still not your cape.”

I have no clue why there seems to be a work stoppage with the cape. Maybe I’m in the doghouse and this is Suzanne’s way of punishing me for an indiscretion, but I don’t recall doing anything that would make her mad enough to leave me in cape limbo this way. Perhaps, after she so carefully laid out the cape caper, she suddenly got too busy with work and doesn’t have the time to create it right now.

I could make it simple: I could ask Suzanne what’s up with the unborn and overdue cape. But that would be too easy. There’s no fun in being direct about solving this mystery. I’d rather attempt to figure it out for myself. Trying to figure out what goes on in Suzanne’s mind is a challenging game, and I’m always much wiser after I come up with the answer on my own. The answer is usually surprising, so decoding her behavior is a fulfilling form of entertainment for me—like pondering a logic puzzle. I’ll keep you updated if I stumble upon the answer. If it turns out Suzanne really is just miffed at me for some reason, I can’t wait to decipher what offense I committed that warrants the seemingly permanent installation of the ever-mocking cape-to-be. Whatever it might be, I certainly don’t want to do it again. 😇

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The Buck Stops With Free Agency

Here at TIE O’ THE DAY, thanks to recent SCOTUS decisions, we’ve been feeling like my gun has more Constitutional rights and protections than my body does. Nevertheless, I believe that a woman has the right to determine what her body will and will not do—especially when it comes to what happens inside her body. She is not an incubator. The ultimate choice in matters of potential childbearing should be made by the one person who will bear all the health risks, most of the practical responsibilities, and all of the physical, emotional, and moral consequences of her decision. A right is not a freebie. Every right we exercise comes at a huge cost. It seems to me that the one who will pay the price with their very body is the one who gets to decide what to do with it. I side with free agency and its complicated consequences.

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Out For Evening Eats And A Celebration

Isn’t Suzanne so cute you can’t even stand it?!
Yup. We ate it all.
Glamour ruled the evening.
The fabulosity was evident.
My naked guava sorbet.

STANZA, one of our fave restaurants in SLC, put on a elaborate Pride dinner last Wednesday. Of course, I had to don the gay apparel rainbow Bow Tie o’ the Evening for the event. We had a savory 7-course meal, designed by “our” chef. His name is Paul, and we always call him “our” chef although we have never actually met him—because I know somebody who knows him, and that counts as sort of a personal relationship, as far knowing local stars is concerned. We eat at STANZA often, and I’m sure I’ll meet him one day soon.

STANZA brought in a kickin’ drag show to entertain the crowd as we dined. Suzanne drank a few boozy special occasion cocktails, so I drove us home in her car—which she never lets me drive unless she’s feeling a bit o’ the buzz. To prove to y’all I was sober, I include this photo of my Diet Coke and my meal’s 4th course: guava sorbet, but sans the Grand Marnier liqueur with which it was supposed to be covered. The waiter was happy to oblige me when I asked, “Can you please bring my sorbet without adding the fun ingredient?” The naked sorbet was plenty yummy, but it wasn’t as pretty or booze-riddled as Suzanne’s. 🍹🍸🍷

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Have I Ever Mentioned How Much I Love My Mother?

Mom and Skitter entertain the troops.
Mom’s loves to wear earrings and eat KFC coleslaw.
Mom was full of stories and political opinions Saturday.
Mom just had to show Skitter her box of jewelry.
Skitter sits all amazed.
Mom’s got Skitter, a bag of Swedish Fish, and a new phone. Yay!

Wood Bow Tie o’ the Day joined us for a Saturday jaunt to visit Queen Helen of Delta. We loaded up the car with Swedish Fish and KFC coleslaw, two of Mom’s fave edibles. Our mission was to deliver Mom a new-fangled flip phone to replace her old-fangled flip phone which had ceased to do its one job, which is to keep Mom connected to her begats and her pals. She seemed pleased with the new phone because it functions exactly like the one it’s replacing. Mom has made it very clear to me that she does not want a smarter phone because, at nearly 92, she does not want to have to learn one more damn thing (her swear word, not mine). Mom fell in love with the goldfish-in-a-bag earrings I was wearing, and I fell in love with her blue crystal earrings. I don’t recall seeing them before, but they are the color of her dreamy blue eyes. Note to self: Steal Mom’s ice-blue earrings on next visit.

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A Blast From My DHS Past

Tie o’ the Day comes to you from the pages of my 1980 Delta High School yearbook—interestingly enough, called The Triangle. Suzanne went off to see a play without me last night, and I must have been feeling lonely (not) and nostalgic (not) because I found myself leafing through old yearbooks. I’m so glad that’s what I did, because I found bigly treasure. It’s a yearbook message from my English teacher, Bill Ronnow, a non-Deltan who taught at DHS for only my Sophomore year before he gathered up his family and headed off to law school. Although he taught at DHS for only a short time, he made a bigly impression on me. You know how sometimes—and I mean very rarely—you meet someone and you just know that they “get” you? Mr. Ronnow and I simply understood each other from the get-go. He was of the hippie variety—always a plus for me. Our mutual respect for the infinite fun and complexity of sentences and the literature they created was a key element in both of our lives. I lived for words and ideas, as did he. And I liked his clothing choices, the snazziness of which this photo doesn’t really convey. He often wore dapper button-down sweater vests, and I began to follow in his sweater-vest footsteps as soon as I could arrange a trip to the University Mall in Orem. 👔 📖

The yearbook note he jotted to me is a fine example of how we bantered with each other daily. “You’re a gentleman and a scholar.” is a quote right out of the book, Catcher in the Rye, which we must have gabbed about together. The order to “Sling that mud, Ms. Hoddie.” is a reference to the times he had seen me hod-carrying “mud” and bricks on construction projects with my brother, Ron. The note makes me laugh for so many reasons, one of which is that if a current teacher wrote some of what it says to a student, that teacher likely would be canceled. 📚🗒

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Trophy Hunters

Trophy buck Tie o’ the Day is draped over the antlers of the 1 deer I kinda killed. I didn’t have the whatever-it-takes to shoot this young Bambi, so I aimed high in order to miss. I believe Dad took a shot at the same time I did—to make sure I brought it down. He never admitted he took a shot, but I’m no fool. And I know where I aimed. Dad never missed a deer—including a deer he killed as he sat back on a ridge to take a shot and unknowingly sat on a cactus. Yup, he nailed it anyway.🌵 Dad personally ‘dermied “my” “California 2-point.” 🦌 I think he knew I wasn’t going to hunt ever again, although we didn’t really talk about it directly. But I also think he wanted to give me something so I would remember that last hunt together, as well as the hunting understanding we came to on that day. Plus, those are basically jackalope antlers! And that’s just funny.🤡

Dad’s photo was taken in the early 70’s, on his bigly hunt in Alaska. His caribou’s antlers fit him perfectly. (Yes, Dad is still on my mind. As always.)