Category: Bipolarity

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I Learned Love From These Kids

[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.

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The Bees And The Bees

[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.”

And he did. And she wasn’t even a bee.

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What Is This “Ironing” Of Which You Speak?

[Here’s a repeat of a teeny post from 2017. Thanks for your patience, folks, while I get my manic brain settled back into its writing gear. Note to self: Quit being bipolar!]

So I walk into the kitchen this morning—still half-asleep—to fill my mini-keg with ice and Diet Coke. And whoa! I see this surfboard that Bow Tie o’ the Day dragged home from a night on the town. Bow Tie informed me this is not, in fact, a surfboard. It’s a product called an ironing board. I have no earthly idea what you do with one of these. Bow Tie tried to explain its function, but it all sounded like a bunch o’ blah, blah, blah to me. I guess I’ll have to YouTube it.

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It Just Happens Sometimes

Skitter and I click. From the first time we met at the dog rescue in December of 2013, Skitter and I felt a kinship with each other’s peculiarities. I think we must have recognized each other’s raggedy edges. Her previous mistreatment and my constant bipolar rapids somehow recognized each other, and we formed a connection that has functioned to the betterment of both of us. Suzanne and Rowan recognized it happen that day too. That’s a sweet and sappy story, but it’s also true. Today, however, actual mind-reading was involved going on between The Skit and I.

While I was filling up the recycling can, I got a song stuck in my head. I could not shut it off. And it was completely out of nowhere. Worse, it was a smarmy tune from the 70’s! It was Debby Boone’s “You Light Up My Life.” I haven’t heard or thought of the song in decades. I stood staring into the recycling can, trying to figure out what was in there that could have possibly set off that song in my mind. There was nothing I could see. I left the garage and went upstairs to wash a load of face masks for the week, and that song kept playing in my head. I turned on other music to drown it out, but no—my life was still getting lit up by Debby Boone’s voice between my ears, over and over. Aaaaaaaarrrrrrggggghhhhhh! It was becoming painful to my brain. I thought: How can the repetition of such a syrupy sweet song cause an amount of irritation which makes me want to wretch and say swear words at the same time?

I went downstairs and poured myself a stiff drink of watermelon-flavored sparkling water, then sat down by Skitter, who had been nowhere around me and my house chores. Skitter—as you can see here—had clearly used her telepathic powers to hear the song that was stuck in my head, and she had tried to rescue me by wrapping herself in the candy corn Halloween lights to send me a message: I light up her life. It, of course, caused me to laugh so hard I forgot all about the stoopid Debby Boone song. Skitter and I have been singing new Bruce Springsteen songs together ever since the dastardly Debby Boone tune flew the proverbial coop of my noggin.

BTW I’m not sure if that was a tall tale or a tall “tail.” I guess it depends on whether I wrote it or Skitter did.

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Waiting For Suzanne

Glow-in-the-dark, spiderweb Bow Tie o’ the Day and I are patiently waiting in my truck for Suzanne to buy all the dirt Home Depot sells. I was ready to go in to the store with her, but I ended up not feeling like making the effort. As I sort of mentioned in this morning’s post, I woke up on the wrong side of bipolar today. In case you’re wondering which side—manic or depressed—is the wrong side, I can cloud things up for you about my bipolarity by saying BOTH and NEITHER. Suffice it to say I’m feeling colicky in my brain.

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A Very Teeny, Tiny Mortgage

So what did I actually do with my time while I wasn’t writing TIE O’ THE DAY posts during my recent bout of bipolar depression? Well, most of what I did was try to make it through one hour at a time. I’m sure I’ll fill you in on some of my murkier activities, which—to be more accurate—were more like non-activities. But I’ve dealt with the swing of this bipolar pendulum all my life, and I know one way to make it through is to make appointments and show up—no matter how I’m feeling. I made an appointment with Gracie.

A few days earlier, Suzanne and I had participated in an annual silent auction benefitting Davis Schools. It’s usually a bigly dinner event where we dress up and make a night of it. COVID-19 put the brakes on that sort of event this year, so we sat at home and bid on items by iPhone while watching tv. The oddest thing happened! Every auction item I bid on that night—and eventually won—was for someone Gracie’s age. How weird is that? I didn’t see that coming.

I texted Gracie’s Mom, the beauteous Bishopette Collette, to set up a time I could deliver the haul. She said she’d check with Bishop Travis, my nephew supreme, for a workable drop-off time when they would all be around.

In honor of Bishop Travis and Bishopette Collette, I wore my BYU Tie o’ the Day when I made the delivery. They appreciated it. Grace, however, didn’t remember me at all. I mean—I hadn’t seen her since right before X-mas, which means I hadn’t seen her for half of her one-year life! I was glad I wore my cow shoes. Grace warmed up to them and kept trying to take them off my feet. I’ll wear my chicken shoes next time, and she’ll never forget me again.

I delivered Gracie some stuffed beasts to hug, a play vet kit, and something called a Cottage Playhouse, which needed to be assembled. I apologized to Travis and Collette about bringing something in need of assembly. I have known Bishop Travis his entire life, and he is a man o’ many talents. Putting things together is not one of them. When I apologized about the cottage’s unassembled state, Travis and Collette—almost in unison—said, “That’s why we have Lela.” Lela is Collette’s neice, who takes care of Grace when Travis and Collette are working. I was glad Lela was there with them the day I delivered the gifts, and I was especially glad to know she would be the official General Contractor of the playhouse. You can see Lela in one of the pics here, actually smiling while assembling. I bet Lela whistles while she works too.

On my drive home, after I left the Blackwelder’s with a new house to build, I realized that I can forever brag that I bought Gracie her first house. And Lela can brag that she built it.

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Peek-a-boo! There It Is!

Wood Bow Tie o’ the Day and parrot Face Mask o’ the Day were grocery shopping with me at DICK’S when I realized I’m not the only one who is back in the public eye. Yup, the toilet paper is back on the shelves and in mountainous stacks throughout the store.

COVID-19 has made it such that we have all had to make a few changes in our routines, like donning masks and doing our best at social distancing. During these days o’ the pandemic, I am most proud of something I HAVEN’T had to do. During the upheaval of the last three or four months, I haven’t had one toilet paper supply worry. In our house, there has been no need for toilet paper panic or toilet paper hoarding. (Well, at first, Suzanne occasionally panicked about the size of our tp stash, but it was totally unnecessary. I had it covered, with rolls to spare.)

As the li’l homemaker-during-the-pandemic that I am, I am proud to say we have never run out of the ample supply of toilet paper I always keep stocked in our garage. To be honest, I guess you could say that keeping us supplied with the correct amount of toilet paper is about the only real homemaking skill I have. I certainly can’t cook. Overseeing the household tp supply is my one skill, so I have to pat myself on the back about my stellar permanent record on that front. A lot of people were caught with their pandemic pants down about the toilet paper, if ya know what I mean. Not I.

I wonder. Is my single, house-y skill of being Toilet Paper Monitor Extraordinaire alone mighty enough to justify my entire existence on the face of the earth? Why, yes! Yes, it is. Those of you who have ever had to scramble for a square or six of “bathroom tissue” know I’m right. In fact, I’ve probably always been worth my weight in toilet paper.

FYI I have been a zillion places. I have met a zillion people. But I have NEVER heard anyone actually refer to toilet paper as “bathroom tissue,” despite what the labels on the packaging say. Talk about hoity-toity!

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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.

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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.

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Things Change. Not Really.

It happened: Suzanne left me. And I’m buying alcohol. It’s all true. But it’s only true in the sense that Suzanne left me to spend the weekend in Mesquite with her Champagne Garden Club Girls, for their annual Christmas bash. Spouses were invited, but my stoopid bipolar brain needed a quiet weekend at home. Sometimes it’s too people-y out in the world— even when they’re my fave people. Suzanne will be back home tomorrow.

And it’s also true I’m buying alcohol, but I have not tumbled off the proverbial wagon. I’m stocking up for Suzanne. I noticed her wine stash is depleted, and replenishing the wine inventory is part of my housewifery jobs. She’s not a bigly drinker, so I only have to make a liquor store run 3-4 times a year. I figured I should stock up ASAP since it’s so close to Christmas, which means exponentially growing herds, gaggles, bands, covens, and crowds at the liquor store with each passing day. I can now cross the “intoxicating spirits” errand off my list until probably February.

The photos show— among other things— how the weather changed on me while I was in the liquor store. It wasn’t snowing when I arrived, but it was dropping snow pellets on me and pine-cone-and-holly Bow Tie o’ the Day a few minutes later when I got back into Vonnegut Grace Vibe. The snow “storm” lasted exactly 45 seconds and caused 1 wreck in the parking lot. This is Utah, people! Snow happens. It is not a sign of the apocalypse. Just slow down. Pay attention. Panic is not required.

In the liquor store, I also snapped pix of some amusing beverages I ran across but had no reason to buy. We here at TIE O’ THE DAY thought you’d be amused too.