Month: October 2022

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And The Vibe Is On The Market

With the arrival of my Maverick, I have no need for my 2007 Pontiac Vibe. When we got the Vibe, I christened it Vonnegut Grace Vibe, in honor of two incredible writers who died in 2007—Kurt Vonnegut and Grace Paley. It is the best vehicle I have owned in all of my driving life. In 15 years, it has given me zero problems. It easily carted around three dogs at a time and Rowan. It performs well in bad weather, and it still gets 36 miles per gallon. I have babied it beyond all reason. It has nearly 165,000 miles on it, and I have no doubt it will drive for another 200,000. I have been trying to justify keeping it, because I love it. But I know if I keep it, it will just sit in the parking lot alone for years, being unused and rotting on its tires. My new truck has all my attention now. Vonnegut Grace needs to belong to someone who loves her and plays with her every day. This is a very sad, but necessary, break-up for me and the Vibe to go through. We were a happy couple at one time, but we have have simply grown apart. It was good while it lasted. I wish Vonnegut Grace well in all her future endeavors. I hope she finds her soul-driver.

In preparation to sell Vonnegut Grace, Suzanne wants to get her detailed before we present her to any prospective new owners. I asked Suzanne if it was okay for me to leave the bumper stickers on and let the detailers remove them. Suzanne made it clear that she wanted me to de-sticker Vonnegut Grace before the car’s bigly spa day at the detailers’ shop. So this morning, I got out my trusty razor blades and went to work. You know me: I not only wear my heart on my sleeve (and on my t-shirts and hats), I also wear it on my vehicles—by way of numerous bumper stickers. I put them on my bumpers. I put them on my windows. If you see me in a vehicle, you see stickers. It was near traumatic to me to divest the Vibe of its sticker philosophies. The car got naked-er and naked-er as I scraped each bumper sticker off its rightful place. I got to the final sticker and I just couldn’t do it. It’s so close to the election that I made a stand. I will not remove my “LIVE, LAUGH, VOTE-OUT MIKE LEE” sticker. I want as many people as possible to see it, even if it’s only the car detailers before they detail it off. It’ll make me feel better, and Vonnegut Grace will not be completely bare just yet.

I think it’s only fair that I share with y’all the last inventory of Vonnegut Grace, just as I shared the Hombre’s last contents. Again, sorta from left to right in the photo: two folded in-case potty pads for Skitter; a blue ice scraper/brush; a blue flashlight; a bottle of antibacterial gel; a black pack of ritzy Daneson toothpicks; a pair of small binoculars; a spare Sylvania taillight bulb for the car; a Hillary Clinton cigarette lighter somebody gave me; a mini Twister spinner board, cuz you never know when a game of Twister will break out; a huge pink manuscript clip; a stack of useless papers from the glove box; 13 cd’s in their cases; 7 notebooks, in case I was driving when I got an idea for the million-dollar poem I’m going to write; my Hello Kitty sunglasses with the bow tie attached to the frame; 2 pocket knives (I know. What is it with me and pocketknives in my vehicles?); the most important AA chip, for getting through the first 24 hours (I carry my 15- year chip in my pocket at all times); a LET PEOPLE VOTE bumper sticker; 3 dollar bills; a GAP hat; 2 packs of Freedent gum; the newest George Saunders book of fiction; a pad of lined, pink Post-It notes; the squattiest screwdriver I own; 2 spare party bow ties; a set of yellow and pink earplugs for concerts; Poligrip; key lime Chapstick; a tube of Burt’s Bees lotion; a roll of Rolaids AND a roll of Tums; a tin of wintergreen Altoids; 4 pencils; 8 pens; one of Skitter’s ties; and a bigly bottle of Aspirin. That inventory pretty much sums up my life somehow. Ain’t it fabulous?!

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Here’s Another Thing About Oak

I’m writing a longer post of formal introduction to my new truck, but I haven’t finished it yet. Y’all will most likely be able to read about that vehicle tomorrow. But for today, I have a brief story about Oakley, which I was reminded of when I encountered the Frank’s Red Hot Sauce in the refrigerator this morning. The hot peppers on my Bow Tie o’ the Day underscore the theme.

I wasn’t there when it happened, but I have heard varying versions of the story many times. I am giving you the bare bones gist here. Oakley was probably about 3 or 4 when she and her family were on the road to or from Delta, which was a semi-long drive. Along the way, the car and its occupants stopped at a convenience store for treats and a potty break. The young princess, Oakley, had one complaint about her convenience store experience. She announced to all of those within earshot, “This toilet paper is spicy.” Apparently, the toilet paper in the bathroom at that particular convenience store was a bit rough on the behind, and Oakley was not about to be silent about it. What a swell description of cheap, grating toilet tissue—especially from a little kid! I’m sure you’ve heard of the Hans Christian Andersen story, “The Princess And The Pea.” Well, we had our very own Princess Oakley And The Spicy Toilet Paper.

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The Ballad Of Floyd And Nuk

How many sister wives did Kent get?
A rare note from Nuk/Knuk.
Mercedes adds the context for Kent’s note and bow tie gift.

It all began in 1969, when I was 4. I met the man o’ my dreams: Kent in a Bow Tie o’ the Day. My oldest sister, BT, married him, which I think I thought meant I had married him, too. Which, I guess, I sort of did, since he has looked out for me and made me laugh ever since, and I have no plans to divorce him in any way, shape, or form. After all these years, he is still McDreamy to me. And no one has rooted more for me about getting my new truck than Kent. In fact, he has practically nagged me about it ever since I ordered it last November. Still, after I relayed word to him that my Maverick was finally built and being shipped, I was a bit surprised when I received a note with an attached origami Bow Tie o’ the Day in the mail from Kent, who I often refer to on TIE O’ THE DAY as Nuk. Nuk has never written to me before, so this gem is a keeper.

How Kent and I got to be known as Floyd and Nuk is a tale of two completely separate tales. First, when my nephew, Travis, was little, he couldn’t pronounce Kent’s name. He called Kent “Nuk.” If anyone else called Kent “Nuk,” Travis would pipe up, “He’s not Nuk, he’s Nuk.” And thus, Kent became Nuk. Simple enough.

Somewhere near the end of 1984, Kent and I began referring to each other as Floyd. I was living with BT and Nuk at the time, while finishing up my college degree at Weber State. Although my major was English, and I was in my last quarter, I had to scurry to find one last English class to fulfill the requirements of the major. It had to be a class I hadn’t already taken and one that was being offered that quarter. I ended up stuck taking a basic Introduction to English Literature survey class with a full-blown herd of students who did not care whatsoever about anything remotely related to literature. But they could read, so they thought the class would be easy to pass. I took the class because it was literally the only English class that was available to me at the right time AND fulfilled the requirement for me to major in English.

Suffice it to say that my teacher for the Intro to Lit class was a dud. He was dull. He took all the “lit” out of literature by his very presence. He took roll every day, with 150 or so students, which took up a good chunk of class time. And if you weren’t there when your name was called, or if he didn’t hear you say “here,” you got what he actually called “demerits,” which he recorded at length in his roll book: you lost points. His bad hearing could actually affect your grade. His first name was Floyd. Well, one day I was bemoaning to Nuk all about my bad luck in getting this boring soul as my teacher, and Nuk asked me what the guy’s name was. I told him the dude’s name, and Nuk said he knew him from some church goings-on having to do with their Stake. With great sympathy, and without skipping a beat, Nuk said, “He’s a nice enough guy. But he’s drier than a popcorn fart.” That was all that needed to be said, and it still makes me chortle when I think about it. It was the perfect description of the real Floyd’s personality, or—in Floyd’s case—the lack thereof. Since then, Nuk and I have referred to each other as Floyd with great giddiness. Kent’s forever Nuk to me, and I’m honored to be his Floyd. 🍿

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The Hombre Inventory

After driving my 98 Hombre since I bought it in 2001, I have happily driven its little guts out. The cushion on the driver’s seat is nonexistent: my butt has been sitting on metal for the last three years. The dashboard is cracked right down the middle, where I’ve had to bang on it if I wanted the radio to work, even though the stereo worked fine. And the dog nose smudges on the passenger side window that I purposely never washed—I almost kept that window and framed it, but I let my good sense win on that account. I traded in the entire Hombre, so now she’s all gone. I expected the dealership to give me maybe $100 for the trade-in value, but I was pleasantly surprised when they offered me a whole $1,000. Seriously, I just handed them the Hombre’s keys and hoped they wouldn’t call me back later saying, after further consideration, I owed them money for all their hassle to take it to car heaven.

When I cleaned out the old girl, I found everything I have laid out for you in these photos. I was not surprised by much, although I was a bit fascinated by a couple of things, as you will see. Here’s my truck’s Ed Hardy “LOVE KILLS SLOWLY” sunscreen, which I have used here as the display for the rest of the inventory. Kinda moving from left to right: 2 pairs of work gloves; a spare party Bow Tie o’ the Day; a keyed gas cap; fluffy holiday antlers and a red nose for the truck to wear; 4 notebooks; a pack of argyle tissues; a pack of Virginia Slims Superslims cigarettes I used as a prop in a TIE O’ THE DAY post years ago; a dime; 4 pocketknives; 8 pens; the printed name “MERCEDES” I used to cover up my sister’s Betty Rae’s name on Dad’s headstone when she first came to see it, cuz she doesn’t like her name; a dog chew; 2 TIE O’ THE DAY bracelets; a pack of cough drops; a bottle of antibacterial gel; my Ute window flag; a copy of the The Constitution; a book of matches; 3 all-in-one utility tools; a boxed aluminized emergency blanket; jumper cables; a green comb; an ice scraper/brush; a baggie o’ old pretzels; a pile o’ maps and truck documents. And finally, look closely at my Ute flag. You will see I finally found the hearing aid I lost almost two years ago. Yup, I found it on the floor behind my seat in the Hombre, under a layer of dog fur. It has been surreptitiously listening to me this whole time. Oh, and the really final thing you can see on my Ute flag is the last tampon left in existence on any property I live in or drive in. It will not be moving into the new truck. 🚬

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Retired

License plate Bow Tie o’ the Day heralds its own retirement. With the delivery of my new truck, I put my 98 Isuzu Hombre out to pasture. My red Hombre served me well for more than two decades, and it now romps freely on acres of other junked vehicles—where it will likely be used for parts. And in that way, its pieces and parts can live to ride another day. Not only did I decide it’s time to retire my faithful truck, I decided it is time to retire the infamous “HELEN W” license plates. Mom first ordered the vanity plate in the 80’s for her Oldsmobile, which we immediately began referring to as the Helenmobile. With each new car she got, she transferred her HELEN W license plate to it, and that car automatically became the new Helenmobile—whether it was an Oldsmobile or not. When Mom gave up her car keys a few years back, it made sense that she transferred the HELEN W license plate to me. I gleefully transferred it to my Hombre. I fully intended to transfer the license plate to my fancy new truck, but the testy climate of the world as it is now makes it not so wise to drive around with a license plate that shouts out your first name and last initial to passing strangers. So, with all due respect and gratitude for their previous service, I have retired the HELEN W license plates, although I will officially own them until I die.

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Two Updates

TIE O’ THE DAY is at the ready to keep y’all informed as to what’s up. And what’s up today is the current state of my right eye socket, after I pulled my own truck door into it last week. Bow Tie o’ the Day can verify it looks much worse than it feels. I seem to display new colors on my eyelid and forehead almost daily. It’s as if I’m wearing a rainbow on my right orbital region. And the second update concerns the fact that today is the 1-year anniversary of my most recent Cranky Hanky Panky surgery. Here’s a Breast Cancer Awareness Ties o’ the Day photo of my belly, showing you how my most recent incision is healing. The 5-inch horizontal scar is from my 2018 pancreas surgery. The 7-inch vertical scar is from last year’s operation. I am an excellent healer, eh?

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The Race Is On

It’s a TIE O’ THE DAY tradition. When an important election rolls around, I drag out Chia Mitt Romney (representing the Republicans) and Chia Barry Obama (representing the Democrats) for a Chia “hairdo” race. As in the past, whichever head grows the best hairdo, it is a safe bet that their respective political party will do well in the November election. Let the political sprouting begin! TIE O’ THE DAY will keep you updated on this hairy race.

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Sometimes I Forget

When I venture out into the community, I am used to receiving a certain level of attention to whatever my Bow Tie o’ the Day might be that particular day. My neckwear often gets a second look from people as I walk past. But when I was erranding one day last week—while wearing my jumbo seersucker cirtrus Bow Tie o’ the Day—some members of the public were giving me what I deemed to be an extra-long double glimpse. I asked myself, “Why is this bow tie more double-take-worthy than it has ever been before?” It’s true I was also wearing my new Lemonhead socks, but folks weren’t looking too over-long at them. No, I was sure something was up with the bow tie itself. Had I spilled something garish on it? Was I wearing it upside down? I was just about to take off my bow tie and examine it, when some old geezer caught my eye and said, “I forget about mine, too.” He pointed to my right cheekbone, and I knew immediately what I had done: I had forgotten to wash the lipstick off my cheek from Suzanne’s kiss goodbye when she went to work that morning. I do this more often than you can imagine. I replied to the guy, “Yeah, but we never forget we’re loved.” And we both went happily on with our respective errands. 💋

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Rowan’s Belated Birthday Brunch

Although Rowan’s 25th birthday was weeks ago, in August, everybody’s schedules were such that we couldn’t find a time to get together with him for a celebratory brunch, until two Sundays ago. Suzanne and I finally met up with Rowan and his flame, Cameryn, at Finn’s Cafe in Sugarhouse—where we wore the birthday party hats for a total of maybe 90 seconds, so I could snap TIE O’ THE DAY photos. Suzanne, Rowan, and Cameryn are always good to indulge me in my TO’TD efforts. For the festive occasion, I did not choose to wear my birthday balloons bow tie, as I often do for birthdays. Instead, I went with the wood, puzzle piece TIE O’ THE DAY, which is fun, but it was also more in keeping with my inner mood of that day. I was trying to fit together some big answers to a big puzzle: how could Oakley be gone?

You see, I knew that near the end of this previously scheduled brunch celebration in honor of Rowan, it would be my job to relate to him the news about Oakley’s death. Suzanne and I had been with her in the hospital room as she passed away just the night before. Rowan and Oakley spent a lot of time around each other when they were younger, despite a seven-year age difference. Since it had been a few years since Rowan and Oakley had seen each other, I did not anticipate the news would hit Rowan as hard as it did. As a parent, I hurt for him as he teared up and struggled to process the unbelievably terrible information. As a parent, I was also proud of him that he had grown into the kind of person who still carried a tiny cousin named Oakley in his heart, despite how much time had passed since they hung out together. I am now certain he will carry his love for her—and for all “the kids” in his Delta family—with him throughout his entire life. I could see Rowan is beginning to understand the magnitude of the loss of even one person in a family. He is wrestling with the loss of our incredible Oakley, who will not live an adulthood, as he has the opportunity to do. Rowan was moved enough to feel both honored and obliged to say a few words at her graveside. Our Rowan was a grown man in his grief. As such, he is trying to put together the pieces of the existential puzzle—as are we all.

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It’s The Feel O’ The Pages

After I had the first almost-good night of sleep in the last ten nights, I slept a little late this morning, and now it’s time to post a TIE O’ THE DAY offering. Instead of a trail of my groggy words, I give you these three amusing book-y memes for your perusal. I’m sure I will be fully awake and coherent enough to don a bow tie and write an original post for y’all this afternoon. Until then, do your darnedest to have a swell day!