Category: Bow Ties

Posted on

Fruitless Fishing For Pancreatic Calcifications

For my 3rd—and final—ERCP (scope down the throat) of the summer at the University of Utah Hospital, I wore my ever-faithful, ever-amusing Skittles Bow Tie o’ the Day. You’ll note that I also wore my neckties Face Mask o’ the Day for the added good tie vibes I thought might be helpful in my quest to get the proverbial dragons slayed in my Cranky Hanky Panky. But the good doctor, the good bow tie, the good necktie vibes, the good multi-denominational prayers (thanks, y’all) from my family and friends—well, none of it was enough to allow my doc’s gadgets to rip that stone out of my pancreas on his third try. So surgery, it is. Based on past experience with my rocky pancreas, I figured surgery was where I’d end up, right from the start. But sometimes you have to try other things along the way, in the process of getting to the one bigly necessary step you most don’t want to take. Ain’t nobody wanna be sliced open! But, apparently, it is time. Surgery is scheduled for early September at Huntsman. I’m bummed out about it, but I’m also grateful there is a likely solution to my stoopid pancreatic boulder pain.

Posted on

To Pick, To Choose, Perchance To Decide

When it comes to neckwear, you know I can’t get enough. More is more. And I often get an itch to wear both Ties o’ the Day and Bow Ties o’ the Day simultaneously. Fortunately, I have enough “bow tie ties” and “tie bow ties” in my collection to be able to indulge myself in whims such as this.

TIE O’ THE DAY has been up and running for nearly 5 years (plus another two years before the website was established), and in that time very few ties/bow ties have shown up in a post more than once. That excludes holiday pieces, which I think of nostalgically as I repeat them during each passing holiday season. It is true, though, that as I have naturally slowed down my acquisition of new neckwear, I now occasionally repeat a tie or bow tie. I suspect I’m choosing my favorites. Don’t get me wrong—I love all the critters upstairs in The Tie Room, but I freely admit that I do prefer the company of some of them more than others. And all the ties/bow ties probably feel a similar way about me. I know dang well I am not everybody’s cup o’ tea. I doubt there’s anything wrong with that. I know that as I get older, I find I have less and less patience for spending my ever-diminishing amount of life left dealing with folks who are not in my tribe. To belong to my tribe, nobody has to believe or act like me. That would be uninteresting and unenlightening. However, to be in my tribe, a person does have to value thinking and live in empathy—and have a good time while doing so. I’m not making a judgment of anybody’s worth: there’s a tribe for everybody. It’s just that I, personally, don’t want to waste any more of my fleeting time not feeling at home and content with the people I encounter. I’m done with contention and egos and pettiness. I just wanna be.

Posted on

Hump Day Accessories

Hump Day—or any day of the week, for that matter—can always be made better by the wearin’ o’ the sequins. Yellow sequin Bow Tie o’ the Day proves it. A cowboy hat improves one’s fashion panache, as well. No day of the week should be dreary. Express your gratitude for the fact that you’re alive by choosing accessories that show your joy at being here on the planet. To wear sequins is to give a memorable wink to all the folks you encounter in your day. Stand out. There’s nothing wrong with letting people notice you exist. Let them see you are not afraid to show up as the star in your own life. You aren’t trying to hog all the attention. You’re simply saying, “I am here—and I’m grateful for the chance to be a part of it all.” 🤠

Posted on

An Annual Fright

Magnetic, wood “shattered” Bow Tie o’ the Day and I are in agreement. The scariest aspect of Halloween is that it’s July 27th, and the Brach’s candy corn and candy pumpkins are already in the stores. Boo! Of course, I had to buy some.

Posted on

Just Relax

The ocean relaxes me. So do lakes and rivers and creeks and lawn sprinklers. If it’s moving water which I can sit and look at, it’ll do. Sailboats-and-lighthouses Bow Tie o’ the Day symbolizes what I miss most about living on the east coast: the easy access I had to the Atlantic Ocean. (No, this is not another post about the nudist beach in Delaware where I spent some time.) The skies and sunsets of Millard County are my spirit’s home, but the beaches of DelMarVa (Delaware, Maryland, and Virginia) somehow haunt my thoughts — in a deeply cosmic way I am still unable to articulate. I’m working on understanding and explaining it more accurately, so I’ll get back to you on that.

And speaking of relaxation — On our little foray to R. C. Willey a few days ago, I found the absolute perfect chair for Suzanne. She works long days in the salt mines of Education, and that translates into a number of aches and pains in her body. And, unlike me, she’s getting older. 🤡 Our bodies were born programmed to die, you know. The massage chair pictured here works you over from head to literal toes. When I showed it to her, she jumped right in and tried out every one of its functions. I couldn’t get her to get out of it. At some point, I had flashbacks to when my wee ones wanted to stay on the electric horse ride on the sidewalk in front of the grocery store, and they would cry and cling to the reins until you could wrangle the reins out of their sticky kid hands. I was sure Suzanne was going to have a similar tantrum if I had to drag her out of the chair. I was getting myself ready to promise her a candy bar if she’d go quietly with me to the car. I was getting ready to promise Suzanne a new toy, if she would leave the chair without me having to peel her out of it.

I so wanted to buy the massage chair for her. I checked my wallet and my pockets. I told her I left my change at home, so I didn’t happen to have the $6,499.99 on me right then. In the end, Suzanne exited the chair with her recently chair-massaged dignity, trying to act like the adult she is. I told her I’m saving for the chair in the Bee-Pig Piggy Bank. I’m sure I’ll have the necessary amount of spare change to buy it sometime around the middle of Eternity.

Posted on

My Heaven

I usually tool around northern Utah in my red jalopy truck, on which Mom’s old HELEN W license plates now live. My excursion for today, however, called for me to motor in my Vibe, which wears my BOWETRY (bow tie + poetry) license plates. My destination? Bow Tie Creamery in South Ogden. Ice cream run! If you’re a long-time reader of these posts, you know all about me and my somewhat obsessive relationship with fine ice cream.

I had first heard about Bow Tie Creamery right before everything closed down for the pandemic. I had never made a pilgrimage there before it shut down, and I hoped it would survive the pandemic in tact. Well, it survived and it’s open, and I had to sample its ice cream offerings. And you should, too, if you are a fan of ice cream and find yourself in its vicinity. In fact, if your’e trying to get someone who even sort of enjoys ice cream to fall in love with you, take ’em there for a scoop or two. It’ll work better than any love potion.

Bow Tie Creamery uses superior ingredients and makes only small batches of ice cream and gelato. They have some swell flavors, like Strawberry & Waffles, Double Butter, Lemon Blueberry Cake, S’mores, and Salted Butter Caramel. The folks at Bow Tie Creamery told me the customers’ favorite flavor is Raspberry Sour Cream, so I said, “Pack up a pint of that for me.” They were out of pint tubs, so I made an executive decision to buy a quart tub. I’m so glad I did, because I ate the equivalent of a pint of it long before I got back home to Centerville. I also got a quart of Vanilla Custard flavor, too. I should have bought more flavors. Oh, dear, I guess I’ll just have to drive up there again—with a bigly fat smile on my ice cream dribble face.

Posted on

I Can Hear Me Now

Finally! You can see it here atop my Spock ear: I have a new left hearing aid, as of this morning. Bow Tie o’ the Day and I spent a couple of hours at my hearing doc’s, getting both of my hearing aids synchronized and apped up with my phone. My hearing doc also gave me a new phone app for managing my tinnitus. Since there is no cure for it, I need to work on coping with it. I’m willing to give it a try.

I just had a thought—or, I mean, a question. Am I the only one who gets tired of having to cope with things? I’m certain I am not, but I bet it feels like a lonely endeavor to most of us when we’re doing it. Sometimes I think, “Hey, I’ve coped, and bent, and adjusted, and been understanding enough for one lifetime. I’m done coping with everyone and every situation. It’s time for all humanity to learn to cope with me.” And then I think how ridiculous it is for me to appoint myself the center of the universe, and to demand that the universe should serve me, me, me. Still, it would be nice to exist in a perfect state of well being for ten minutes, occasionally. But I’m not into pity parties, for me or anyone else. So onward, we go—into The Land of Coping With Whatever Comes Along.

Posted on

Hangin’ At Huntsman Again

Flip flop Bow Tie o’ the Day hitched a ride with me and Suzanne to the appointment with my Cranky Hanky Panky surgeon at Huntsman today. The radiologist’s report about my CT scan said my pancreatic stone had been crushed and the resulting rubble was making its way out of my body. I was hoping it was true, but there was no explanation for why I felt continued pain, if my problem really was solved. And then, my surgeon showed us my scans. She said, “Hey! The stone’s still there! It wasn’t blown to smithereens at all.” Even I could see the dang stone. The thing is, I don’t think the radiologist was a dope for misreading my scans. What’s left of my re-built pancreas is weird, and I’m sure it’s not easy to figure out. I’m just glad my pancreas doc wanted to look at the scans with us. The fact that she caught the radiologist’s error makes me doubly confident in her as my surgeon.

So, what does this mean? It means that all of the tests and procedures I’ve been having since February have not been able to deal with the pain in my Cranky Hanky Panky which is apparently a calcified-tissue factory. The next step is, unfortunately, surgery. There are a couple of hoops to jump through before surgery’s a 100% go, but as it stands now, I’m scheduled for surgery to extricate my pancreatic stone in early September. My Panky surgeon told us this surgery is done so rarely that there isn’t even an official name for it yet. It will be similar to the Whipple surgery I had three years ago on my pancreas. It will not be as extensive as the Whipple, but it will be more complicated, in the sense that because of my previous surgery, there is less of my Panky for my surgeon to work with, and my Panky now has scar tissue from the last operation.

I am not a happy camper, folks. If only a bow tie could solve my Cranky Hanky Panky pain, but it can’t. So often in life, we are left somewhere with no real choices. Stuff happens, or stuff doesn’t. We are called upon to endure stoopid stuff that, in itself, has no meaning for us. Stoopid stuff is not a judgment. It just is. How we endure it is where the meaning is made, and we get to make it mean whatever we choose. Will we build joy in what happens, or will we wallow and complain? We’re in charge of the meaning of our days. Choose wisely. Hey, I’m a happier camper already.

Posted on

It Is Hairs-mageddon!

I know it’s time for a hairscut when my Spock ear gets all covered up, but today it feels like the end of my head hairs’ world. You see, I am in dire need of my noggin hairs being hacked off and otherwise managed, and I just found out Miss Tiffany—the masterful cutter o’ my head hairs—no longer works at Great Clips. She is, in fact, nowhere to be found. Now I know how Mom felt when Vonnie retired! Where, oh, where did my Miss Tiffany go? She appreciates my style, and she knows how to wrangle my straight, limp hairs, like no other of these “up north” shear-wielders can. She is a prize I lucked into finding, and now it seems I’ve lost her. Woe is me! And woe-er are my head hairs! The end is near! I hate when that happens.

And then suddenly, just as mustache Bow Tie o’ the Day and I began to surrender to the end of life as we know it and plan a full-out pity party for me and my head hairs, Suzanne texted me from work and said, “Your Miss Tiffany just called me. She wants us to know she’s cuttin’ hairs at a new place now. Here’s the phone number.” Yay! All is right with the world! No pity party needed! No hirsute end of times! No Hairs-pocalypse!

I’m crossing my pancreas that Miss Tiffany is working tomorrow.💇✂️🔪💈

Posted on

Fashion Fact: Cowboy Boots Work With Everything

It’s a rare day when I don’t have a to-do list—or at least a vague idea for what I’m going to do with my waking hours. Today was one such day. If you don’t know what you’re going to be doing, it’s a tad difficult to dress appropriately for your adventures, tasks, or whims for any given day. On the other hand, sometimes what you feel like wearing can help you narrow down what you decide to do with your time. So I wandered around the Tie Room, and peeked in drawers and closets throughout the house. In one closet, I happened upon this dress—with the tag still on it— which Suzanne decided doesn’t work for her. She has recently offered it up to anyone who wants to take it off her hands. Seeing it hanging there in the closet made me ask myself a question: “What is the last thing anyone could imagine I’d do for a TIE O’ THE DAY selfie?” These photos are the answer: I’d wear a dress. And now that I’ve done the last thing anyone could imagine I’d do, I am left to wonder what the next last thing anyone would imagine I’d do is. Hmmm. 🤔 👗 👒 👢

FYI The last memory I have of me wearing a dress was in 1986, when Suzanne and I were pallbearers at a funeral for a friend’s daughter. If I’ve worn a dress since then, I have no memory of it. I have nothing against dresses, except they do not resemble my soul.