Category: Bow Ties

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Merry Birthday, Rowan!

As you have probably figured out, my comic book-design shirt is my fave-rave this summer, which is why it’s regularly showing up on TIE O’ THE DAY. I suppose I should refer to it as my Shirt o’ the Summer o’ 2021. I wore it again yesterday, when I chose to don my wood guitar Bow Tie o’ the Day in honor of Rowan’s 24th birthday. Rowan is a guitar aficionado and player. For his birthday, we took him and his flame, Cameryn, to brunch in SLC at the Copper Onion. We had a lively time on the patio, much to the amusement of the strangers dining around us. Our animated conversation made an entertaining floorshow for our fellow diners.

When I stood up to take this photograph, Suzanne said, “Get the waiter to take it of all four of us. Nobody wants to see your big bald head in the middle of the photo.” But I put my bigly bald head front-and-center anyway, and took the snapshot myself. When we got home and I finally looked at the picture, I realized Suzanne had probably been right, as per usual. But trust me—I’m not losing any sleep over it. 🤡

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But Nothing Bigly Happened

After Skitter did a fine job starring in this morning’s post, I fully intended to share a fabulously exciting tale with y’all in this afternoon’s post. That was truly my plan. And then I looked at my honey-do list and realized my day was going to be all about getting the emissions on both of my vehicles tested, so I could get them officially registered for the coming year.

Indeed, I first drove Vonnegut Grace Vibe to Grease Monkey, where I quietly waited for the testing process to do its processing. While at Grease Monkey, I sat in their Monkey Pit and watched tv on my phone. Vonnegut Grace eventually passed her little test with the highest of grades. I paid her fees on the spot, and she drove us home with tremendous pride in herself. Even now, as she sits parked out front, she still has her chest puffed out for all the other cars in the neighborhood to see.

I worry every year about my truck, Hombre Hombre, passing emissions. She’s a 98, so she’s kinda jalopy-fied—which means she’s old and rusty and decrepit. She could fail her emissions test any year now. As we drove to Grease Monkey, I tried to build her confidence. I told her about The Little Engine That Could, and I told her not to worry because she had more clean emissions to her than any old train engine in a book. At Grease Monkey, Hombre got in line for her testing, and I went to sit and watch more tv on my phone in the Monkey Pit—with my fingers crossed to the vehicle emissions gods. Glory be! Hombre put up low, but passing, numbers for yet another year. Be still my heart! I was thrilled to be able to pay her taxes yet again.

So that was my day. Not fabulous. Not exciting. Just a day full of stuff that took a really long time, but had to be done. I’ll try to be fabulously exciting tomorrow for y’all. It could happen.

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My New Vinyl Records Face Mask O’ The Day

Polka dot Bow Tie o’ the Day and I did a bunch of Monday morning erranding around the Wasatch Front. It was only after I got back home that I realized I had completely forgotten to comb my hair before I left the house to conduct my business this morning. Oh, dear! I hope no one noticed. I’m mortified! 😏

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A Bigly Hairscut

Before my hairscut.
After my hairscut.

I cannot be left to my own whims. Suzanne is going to be perturbed at me—or at least shocked. The handful of times in my life when I have felt the urge to get my head shaved, I have always gone with the #2 comb guide on the clipper. Today, while driving to my hairs appointment, Bow Tie o’ the Day whispered into my hearing aids, “Do something different. Try the #1 comb.” I thought to myself, “That’s something I’ve never done. It sounds like a dandy plan.” Like I always say, it really is okay to do some things just because you have never done them before. And so, when I greeted Miss Tiffany (isn’t she a cutie!?) at her new workspace, I told her to throw the #1 comb on the clippers. You can see that’s exactly what she did. I am fully aware it is not my best look, but I’m already glad I did it. It feels a lightyear different than the #2 comb shave. My head hairs now feel so not-there, and I can’t begin to accurately explain how interesting it feels to rub my own head. My hair feels like semi-soft sandpaper! My head is Velcro! Also, when I swam in the pool with this hairdo, I felt like I swam with all the speed and grace of a streamlined torpedo. I might, however, need to invest in a wig before Suzanne gets home from work and discovers what I have done. I am—as always—her cross to bear. It is true: I can’t take me anywhere.

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My Store-bought Water

I stocked up on flavored water this afternoon. Bow Tie o’ the Day is LOL-ing at me for spending a chunk of money on water, which I can easily steal from my own tap for practically nothing, whenever I’m thirsty. There’s no good reason at all to buy water in cans or bottles, except that I like subtle flavors like “blackrazzberry,” “beachplum,” “white peach ginger,” “peach honey,” “raspberry acai,” “blueberry pomegranate,” and “strawberry cucumber.” The faucets in my house do not spew flavored water, and I really don’t want them to. I only started drinking fancy water last summer, when I decided to give it a try. I like certain brands of flavored water so much that I have cut nearly all Diet Coke/Pepsi out of my diet, without even trying to.

Hey! Here’s a water trivia item from my own experience. The finest-tasting water that has ever gone down my gullet is Oak City, UT water during my kidhood. That stuff came right off the mountain and out of my grandparent’s tap. Oak City water was Oak City water back then. It is said that water has no taste, but if you’ve ever had the privilege of drinking good water, you know that it does. It is a flavor all its own.💧

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There’s Smoke In Them Thar Hills

Bow Tie o’ the Day and I are giving y’all a view of the sky out back. It is gray. It is grey. No matter how you spell it, the sky is full of smoke. For the past few days, the mountains to our east have been disappearing right before our eyes. First, we see ’em. And then, we don’t. The smoke moves in, then blows away. Back and forth. And then repeat some more. It’s a slow-motion show through our tall windows, that’s for sure. It’s like watching a snail-paced ocean ebb and flow in the sky. Don’t get me wrong—the wildfires are a tragedy. I am, however, fascinated with how the smoke finds its way to my sky, and how it changes my normal landscape. The natural light falls differently on objects in the house. Behind the smoke, the sunrises and sunsets are vivid with unusual hues. My mountains seem to be playing a game of peek-a-boo with me and Skitter. It’s all very interesting to me, because I am here to see it happen. My advice is simple: While you’re here, notice everything.

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It’s Inevitable

I’ve been a bit bummed out the last few days, and it has nothing to do with the state of my Cranky Hanky Panky. The sweetest angel on the planet—who happens to be my very own mother, Helen Sr.—has caused me to be upset. It’s certainly nothing she’s done intentionally. She doesn’t go around agitating her family or friends, or even the few people she doesn’t necessarily care for all that much. So, what did she do that got my heart in a dither? Well, when I called to check on her at Millard Care and Rehab earlier this week, Mom had to ask me which of her kids I was. That has never happened before. This was a first, which I hoped would never happen at all. I did not like it one bit—no, sir!

To be fair, my siblings and I do all sound remarkably alike, especially on the phone. But still, I am my mother’s babiest baby, and she knows my voice. I think it should be against the law for her to not know my voice. Mom will be 91 next month, and changes like this make it feel like she is gradually moving farther and farther away from us. I feel like she is moving farther away from being the mother of her babiest baby. I hate having to deal with these complicated feelings. Logically, I understand exactly what is happening. It makes perfect sense. I know it is the Circle of Life and all of that stuff. It’s all the feel-y things that go along with these natural changes that get me stirred up.

I also know that as hard as it was for me to hear Mom tell me she didn’t recognize my voice, it was just as hard for her to have to ask me which kid I was. These changes never go just one way. We still need each other’s help to get through it. That’s called empathy. I learned it from my mother.

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In Line

Here I am, standing in the line at the pharmacy to pick up my meds. This is one line I never mind standing in, because the pharmacy line is directly across from the ice cream section of Dick’s Market. You can see it here behind me. While I wait in line, I can survey the current ice cream offerings and make my choices mentally. I’m accomplishing two things at once. After receiving my rx’s, I simply grab my ice cream choices, breeze through the self-pay area, and head home to arm myself with a clean spoon. Life is good.

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My DNA Results Are Back

I thought it was only fitting to wear my cell design Bow Tie o’ the Day in a post about my DNA results which just came in from ancestry.com. I must say that I was disappointed to learn that ancestry.com no longer offers health testing, which can identify things like a person’s genetic tendency to have blood clots or heart problems. That’s the testing I was originally most interested in. I did the “traits” testing instead.

The DNA findings are mostly what I expected. I am definitely related to my family. Duh! I discovered I share more of my DNA with my brother, Ron, than I share with my sister, BT/Mercedes. The test says I have the sprinter gene, which I didn’t even know existed. Interestingly, I learned from the results that bright light is not likely to make me sneeze. My DNA also indicates that I probably notice a distinctive smell when I pee after eating asparagus. In fact, I do. I thought that happened to everyone, but it doesn’t. There—I learned something.

My DNA says I likely have no problem digesting dairy products, and I have a high sensitivity to sugar—both things I can verify by my experience. According to the test results, I likely have “wet” earwax, unattached earlobes, and three types of iris patterns: furrows, crypts, and rings. Yes, I have all those traits. The DNA did not say that I am the whitest white person on the face of the earth, as I was sure it would. There are, however, two traits I have that defy what my genetic code says is likely to be true for me. First, my genes say I likely have wavy hair, but I really have stubbornly straight hair that always came out straighter after I got a permanent. And second, my genetic code says I am likely to not have a unibrow. Oh, but I do. If it weren’t for my dedicated brow landscaping habits, you would see the wonders of my unibrow. And you would be appropriately askeered. Y’all are so lucky that I routinely wield a fancy pair o’ tweezers.