Category: Bow Ties

Posted on

The Flooring Is Down, And Skitter Is Down With It

 

 

Skitter hid upstairs– on the bed, under a blanket– the entire day yesterday while two completely affable and skillful young gentlemen installed our new floor. Except for sleeping at night, Skitter is always downstairs, but she was petrified of the men and the bigly noises they made in the house. Of course, the second the installers were done and gone, she promptly threw on Bow Tie o’ the Day, sat on her throne, and took over the new floor. She lounged smack-dab in the center of it for the duration of the day.

We’re so pleased with the flooring that I’m sure I’ll find reasons it needs to be background in these posts a zillion times. As you can sorta see in the pic of me, we chose a complementary, but contrasting, flooring. And although this pic doesn’t show it well, you may be able to see that the new floor is laid with its lines diagonal to the existing floor.ing’s lines That was my idea and I was quite surprised when Suzanne agreed it would be nifty to have it laid that way. My surprise was due to the fact that Suzanne’s taste runs to the traditional, while I prefer more snappy modern designs– with architecture, clothing, furniture, etc.. Our taste in books tends to go the same way. She’s all for British classics, and I’m all about American modernist fiction and poetry.

I wax nostalgic about the bookshelves upon bookshelves of books I got rid of when we sold the Delta house. Oh, heck– I get downright misty-eyed about it. However, it was time, and moving made culling my library a sensible decision. I ended up keeping about 500 books I can’t live without. But I estimate I let about 2000 find new homes. I sorta decorated with them in various stacks and formations throughout the house. And I had ideas for a bunch of book sculptures. But I finally knew I would never get to it, cuz I’m at point in my life where I mostly want to spend my energy writing and reading. In fact, I’d rather spend more of my time writing than reading. In reality, I guess I’m actually doing more editing and completing of pieces than writing new pieces. I mean– I have decades worth of drafts that need sprucing up for publication. I’ve got to hurry. I’ve got more decades behind me than I have in front of me.

Posted on

Gettin’ Purty Is Weird. Plus Another Topic.

It appears I opened up a can of beauty worms when I let Suzanne put makeup on me a few days ago. She somehow suckered me and Bow Tie o’ the Day into letting her slather this facial mask gunk on my face last night. (The bow in my hair is actually my own touch. It’s how I keep my head hairs out of my eyes.) I can attest to the fact that it was fun peeling off the mask after it had dried. I managed to peel it off in one piece, which I am extremely proud of. Was this mask enough to calm Suzanne’s current cosmetology bug? I think not, because she then polished my fingernails with a breathtaking emerald color– except for the nail on my ring finger which is always painted purple, whether my other fingernails are painted or not.

There’s a national anti-domestic violence campaign called Put The Nail In It, meaning to end something once and for all.  Its signature symbol is the purple ring-finger nail. When anyone asks about my nail, it gives me an opportunity to talk to them about the importance of the issue. See, I can be serious. In fact, I’m serious about anything that affects the dignity and safety of human beings. And dogs, cats, etc., as well. I think it’s why we’re here on the planet.

I’ve never understood the question a lot of people have about why God allows suffering. To me, people are the ones who cause suffering, and so the right question is, “Why do WE allow suffering?” We created all the problems on the planet (except natural disasters), so it seems to me that our purpose is to learn how to clean up the messes we’ve made, and then create extraordinary solutions. Love your neighbor. Pray. Vote. Hope. Feed the hungry. Teach literacy. There are infinite ways to solve the chaos. Do whatever positive action you do. You can’t do everything, but you can do some things. It’s our responsibility to do what we can. To do any less than what we can should be unacceptable to us. Doing any less than what we can is what makes and allows suffering.

That’s my sermon, and I’m stickin’ to it.

Posted on

Irreconcilable Differences Happen

Ah, Bow Tie o’ the Day is up early to say its sarcastic goodbye to the living room carpet. Out it goes this morning, and Suzanne and I– and the neckwear– shed only crocodile tears. We’ve hated it from the second we saw it. Even the ties lobbied to have it die– preferably a painful, gruesome death. That’s how much we all hate it.

And now you’re wondering why we have had such a universally disliked carpet in our home, I’m sure. Here’s the thing: When we bought the townhouse, it was new and almost finished. Another buyer before us had chosen all the paint and flooring and appliances. At the last moment, that buyer fell through. The very next minute, we walked into the picture. We loved the place, minus the cheap-ass carpet. We decided to live with the carpet cuz it was new, and at that point we weren’t sick enough of it to justify replacing it. But now, enough is enough. So that’s how we got here.

This photo is showing you my gangster hair and gangster face. I feel kinda like I’ve put a hit out on the carpet. I don’t have, nor do I need, a stereotypical early/mid-1900’s mob machine gun to dramatically off the carpet. And I’m not killing it myself. I don’t have it in my heart to kill anything, even if it is only hideous, cheap carpet. No, I might be The Godgodess around here, but I keep my hands pure by hiring flooring installers to the dastardly deed.

Bow Tie and I will pay our proper respects. We aren’t heartless. The carpet has served us, and it’s not its fault someone created it to be an inferior product. It has tried to do the best it could do with the meager means it was born with. I hope it enjoyed its time with us. We aren’t slap-happy to toss it like the garbage it is, but it’s time for us all to part ways. We’ll all shake hands and carpet fibers, and then we’ll go down our separate life-paths. We send it off into garbage dump oblivion in pretty good shape, and scarred with only two or three puppy-in-training pee accidents. 🐶

Posted on

If It’s Sunday, It Must Be Brunch

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 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 the 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. And then we went to brunch, and everything got forgiven and forgotten.

 

Posted on

I Feel Really Bad About It

Bow Tie o’ the Day and I are feeling useless this afternoon. Our flooring installation is Monday, and Suzanne forbade me from helping her move furniture and other objects from the area where the installers need to work. I know she’s right that I shouldn’t help, but it makes me uncomfortable to watch her heft and tote and pull and push stuff around. I was a bad girl anyway, and I moved three bottles of lotion and one container of baby powder from the ground floor to the second floor, at the same time–without Suzanne seeing, of course. I was trying to help. At the top of the stairs, I knew I should not have done it. And then I made the mistake of telling Suzanne what I had done and that I should have moved only two bottles at a time. I got THE LOOK, and I am now banished to The Kingdom of Sit-on-your-butt-and-watch-HOMICIDE-HUNTER:-LT.-JOE-KENDA. It’s one of my fave kingdoms, but I hate to be bossed into doing anything– even if it’s exactly what I want to do. It’s a pride thing, I suppose. And I feel like, for Suzanne’s sake, I should act a little put out and hurt about being banished from the moving action. But jeez, according to my hospital discharge papers, I’m allowed to lift 10 pounds by now. It is true that the papers also say every patient recovers at their own speed, and some should wait longer to lift objects more than 2 pounds. That means I’m still not allowed to lift the Mini-Keg yet. Very sad. BTW At this very moment, Suzanne is vacuuming the carpet which will be torn out for the flooring to be laid down. What the heck is the point of doing that? In less than 48 hours, the carpet will be ripped out and disposed of. Is she trying to impress the flooring workers with her perfect vacuum tracks? With her being kinda miffed at me already, I don’t dare ask her if she’s gonna shampoo it too. Hell, it’s crappy carpet anyway, which is why we’re getting rid of it in the first place. Ok. I’ll shut up about it now and watch more HOMICIDE HUNTER.

Posted on

Suzanne Performs Miracles

OMGolly! Last evening, Bow Tie o’ the Day pinned me down, and Suzanne opened up every makeup bag she owns. I mean– I was simply reclining away in the loveseat, watching LIVE PD. Suddenly, a foundation brush was headed my way. And then eyeliner went everywhere except where it was supposed to go, cuz I couldn’t quit blinking when Suzanne was applying it. I kid you not: she had to wipe it off and apply it a second time. And then it felt like the mascara applicator was gonna poke my eyes out every time it got near my eyeballs. Suzanne asked me when I last applied mascara to my lashes. The answer is 7th Grade and once was enough. I must admit that last night I did enjoy the application o’ the eye shadow. The lipstick is so me, the way its color pops out. You know how I like a dash of bright color. Suzanne told me her philosophy about wearing lipstick has changed. She used to wear calm, blendy colors, but now she thinks if you’re gonna wear lipstick, people ought to really, really, really see it. See what happened there? My loud Clash Fashion style has rubbed off on her face a little. BTW Do you know what most weirded me out about this whole affair? Lipstick on the rims of my Diet Coke cans. I wondered who had been drinking out of my cans.

Posted on

A Bunch Of Steps Forward, One Step Back

I’m wearing as many horseshoes as Bow Tie o’ the Day can display. My goal is to summon good luck from every avenue possible– to make be feel better again. I’ve been thinking I might even conjure up a witch potion or voodoo spell, just for good measure. I think I have a cookbook for those concoctions somewhere. I am in my second day of being MISERABLE, after weeks of improving every day. I’m not worried. I’ll be fine when whatever this is passes. However, maybe it’s a sign I need to slow down in getting back to my chores and normal activities, so I’ll try to ease up on proving I’m all better. This photo shows you my activity for the day. Here I am, vegetating on my recliner. I’ve got my pillows strategically placed around my belly, and I’ve got my Roy Rogers/Dale Evans pillowcase covering the pillow behind my head. Suzanne made the pillowcase for me, of course. And she also made me the Grinch blanket which is warming me. I like the blanket so much that I use it all year, not just at Christmas. BTW Y’all are probably tired of reading about my surgery and recovery for the last two months. I’m sorry. I’m sick of the topic too, but it’s what my days– and the ties’ days– are/have been filled with. The neckwear and I are eager to embark on actual adventures we can share. We wanna do stuff. We wanna be more interesting to ourselves and to you folks. Stay tuned. We’re working on it.

Posted on

Oh, Is It Morning?

No, my puffy eyes and dopey look aren’t because I’ve been crying. This is my face 90 seconds after I got out of bed. I found the right Bow Tie o’ the Day, put it on, and here I am. Having to wake up in the morning can sometimes be a kick in ye ol’ noggin.  But I’m working to get back into the normal daily routine of being a normal person, as opposed to being a convalescing-for-weeks-after-surgery kind of gal. And y’all know what I mean when I use the word “normal.” I mean MY normal. I’m getting there, even though I have to take short naps a dozen times in my day. The normal I’m eager to get to most is shown by Bow Tie: burgers, hot dogs, fries, and pizza. I’ve followed my prescribed bland diet pretty faithfully. Even if you eat out, you can find bland, tame, easy-on-the-pancreas dishes on the menu wherever you go. And so far, I’ve managed to stick to that, even at our Sunday brunches. But I long to scarf down tasty, greasy, not-necessarily-healthy food occasionally. Just wearing Bow Tie makes my mouth water and my tummy growl. I almost want to cook it and consume it’s food fabric print. I can’t believe I just thought that, let alone wrote it. For sure, I would never do such a thing, and y’all know it. It would be a horrific sacrilege. But I do kinda wish Bow Tie were at least a scratch-n-sniff. 🍔🌭🍟🍕

Posted on

I Misplaced My Kite

Bow Tie o’ the Day begged to head outside to experience the concept of wind. I explained to Bow Tie what it is, and why it exists. I also explained that any wind that shows up in Centerville, UT is not “real” wind. Dirt devils in the desert are also not real wind. Tornadoes and hurricanes are not real wind. Those breezes are merely a taste of wind. Even the wind in Chicago, which is known as The Windy City, is not real wind. If you want to experience real wind, you have to be in Delta, UT. It’s not even a contest. Delta wins. I’ve observed the Delta wind blow cats out of trees. On many occasions, I have seen the wind there blow bigly dogs over while they tried to potty. I have regularly seen the Delta wind move sheds, lawnmowers, trampolines, and bags o’ golf clubs. And, I kid you not, I once saw the wind blow a chainsaw off a picnic table. Where it ended up, I can only imagine. I myself was once blown over onto a washboard road while riding my bike in an unexpected wind, and my bike was nowhere to be found when I dusted myself off. I have seen Delta wind blow herds of humongous tumbleweeds against fences, covering the fences so thoroughly– and artfully– that the fences themselves were not visible. In fact, I once saw the wind in Delta blow so ferociously that it threw a bazillion acres of tumbleweeds so high into the air that they actually disappeared. And when gravity was finally able to pull them back down to earth, it appeared as if the heavens had opened wide and were raining tumbleweeds down upon the whole of Millard County. That, my friends, is wind. And trust me, there is no umbrella for tumbleweed rain. 🌪 ☔️ 🤡

Posted on

I Go To Such Exotic Places

Suzanne told me she needed sand. I was hoping she was planning to build me a sandbox to play in, in our backyard, but it turned out that she actually needed sand for some wild gardening adventure she thought up. Off we hauled our butts– and Bow Tie o’ the Day– to Home Depot again. Sand weighs a lot, but it doesn’t cost a lot. I like that. Of course, I’m not allowed to do bigly lifting these days, so Suzanne had to do my usual hefting job. When I’m myself physically, I tend to stay in shape by lifting things for her. When we’re out shopping somewhere, Suzanne inevitably gets her arms full of stuff and then asks me to hold her purse. Out of habit, she asked me to hold it a week or so ago, and out of habit I obediently took it. Bad move! I guarantee you her purse weighs more than any bag o’ sand you can buy at Home Depot. I know for a fact it weighs more than Skitter, because I weighed each of them. 🏋️‍♀️ (I do weird things like that when Suzanne’s at work and I’m home alone, procrastinating sitting down to my daily writing routine.) BTW When I was shooting these selfies, the sun was directly in my eyes, which accounts for the expression on my face in the photo with BatSuzanne in it. I appear to be  avoiding a punch I see coming my way in a UFC fight. 🥊 😸