Witty & Wise Ties, Trivia & Lies
Bow Tie o’ the Day remarked about this first outfit: “Well, it’s super sparkly!” I do believe I would stand out well on the Red Carpet if I wore this, for reasons far beyond the sparkles. The attire’s hardware appears to be prickly also, so that makes it a safe dress to wear in a bigly crowd full of famous gropers. Still, it’s not quite my style o’ dress. I’ll keep looking through whatever gownage I can find. 🎬
There was a minor scuffle in the Tie Room today. When I went up to calm things down amongst the neckwear, I found the entire group of my made-from-feathers Bow Ties o’ the Day gathered in protest. They were there with their tiny microphones and signs—their cell phones pointed and filming in every direction in case something juicy happened. It seems they were upset because I haven’t worn them often enough for their liking. I realized they were right. They haven’t been in the TIE O’ THE DAY rotation regularly. I haven’t paid much attention to them for a very long time. During our public negotiations, I promised them I would change: I need to re-examine how often I wear them. I also promised them reparations in the form of agreeing to wear each of them during the next week. Peace now fills the Tie Room again. I was wrong. I admit it. And now we can all get back to business. I wish more people would admit when they are wrong, then move on.
An Emily Dickinson poem declares to us that “Hope is the thing with feathers—/That perches in the soul—.” It’s that invincible slice of fire in us that makes us go forth when we would really rather be stagnant—whether out of fear of what’s next, doubt about how to continue, or an apparent lack of energy to sally forth. The smallest hope in each of us can kick our metaphorical and literal butts off the couch and out into the world of living a life—if we let it. Hope keeps us ticking when our situation is looking dire. Sadly, some of us are currently in such a state that we have nary a spark of hope left inside at all. In all reality, it’s more than likely every one of us has run out of hope at least once in their lives. Personally, in those times of a hope-drought in my life, that’s when I was fed by other people’s hope. Sometimes people shared their hope with me, and I tried with all my heart to take it in. I fed off seeing those people moving—with their kind hope—through tough times and into their more hopeful futures. Sometimes I flat-out stole the hope I saw and heard in others. I stole their tidy inspirational quotes and attitudes. I stole acts of service I had watched them perform for others, and then I performed those same acts of service for others when I could see the need. I want to repeat this and make it clear: I didn’t just borrow a cup of hope—I stole all the hope I could. Me—I’m the Hope Burglar. I had to trust what I stole and use it to kindle my own feathery hope into being again. It is because of needing to replenish my own hope that I learned an important lesson about it. Stealing hope is not against any law of the universes. Nobody loses anything in the transaction. Everybody gains. True hope, in fact, encourages a kind of promiscuity. It likes to get around. True hope wants to abide within every one of us. Hope, by its very nature, wants to invite everyone to its party.
Right after college, I briefly considered taking a job with a hoity-toity advertising company (whose name I now forget) in Chicago. The salary was sweet, and Chicago would have been mine for the taking. I was sure I was full of brilliant advertising ideas. But, ultimately, I wanted to be a poet, a storyteller—a real writer—so I decided to be poor and go to graduate school at the University of Utah. Which I did. And I am—poor and a writer, I mean. I do, however, still get ideas for creating and/or marketing products. Why am I telling you all this ancient information about a job I turned down? Puzzle pieces Bow Tie o’ the Day is in search of the answer to that same puzzling question. Well, it has to do with a product idea I cannot quit pondering. How has no one made this happen yet? I guarantee it would be a profitable venture. It comes down to this:
The company that makes Head & Shoulders shampoo should market a body wash called Knees & Toes? It’s a no-brainer. You could market it to adults and kids. The logical commercial jingle is already written and in the public domain. It’s sung wherever you find a toddler learning about body parts. The song gets easily stuck in your head, which is exactly what advertising tries to do. Admit it: the song is stuck in your head, even as you read this. Somebody pay me. Just sayin.’ 👤
I have been accused of being a wee bit infatuated with paisley. I used to deny I had any such propensity—until Suzanne bought us some paisley sheets. Much to my dismay, I discovered I now have trouble sleeping every night the paisley sheets are not on the bed. Hi. My name’s Helen, and I’m a paisleyholic.
I got a most unusual phone call early one morning last week, and it was from Suzanne. She had been in her office for about 20 minutes when she called. My phone announced who was calling me, and as I searched the living room for where I had set down my ringing gadget, I figured Suzanne was probably calling me to say she’d left something home that she needed me to bring to her office. Suzanne forgetting something she needs is a rare happening, but it has happened on occasion. No bigly deal. Having found my phone, I answered it. I heard breathing, but no words. After a few moments, I heard mumbling that vaguely sounded like it came from Suzanne. She spoke in slow motion. It sounded like she was drunk—2 or 3 times over. Sloshed Suzanne. But how could that be? It was a tad after 8:00 AM, and she had seemed just fine when she left the house only a half hour before. With tortoise-like slowness and inebriated-sounding slurring, Suzanne said, “Will you go upstairs and check to see if I took my night medication instead of my morning medication?” I checked out her medication organizer and, sure enough, her morning meds for the day were still there. She had, in fact, taken her night meds instead. The PM meds had an obvious soporific effect on Suzanne—which is fitting for bedtime, but not for the start of the work day. I told Suzanne she would not be driving home, but that I would come fetch her from work immediately. By the time I got to her office about 15 minutes later, Suzanne was unable to walk on her own. Two of her colleagues had to help her get downstairs and out of the building. Likewise, it took them both to get her propped upright in my truck. Suzanne seemed every bit the drunkard. She tried to speak as I drove homeward, but I couldn’t understand most of what she slurred on and on about. I did understand her ranting at the creeping UTA bus in front of us as it was going 10 mph below the speed limit for no reason at all. (I was ranting the same rant in my head.) I got her home and up the stairs. I managed to pull off her boots and help her finagle her drowsy bones into the bed—where she slept and snored for the rest of the day. When Suzanne woke up, everything was back to normal—except it was almost bedtime, which meant it was almost time for her to take her night meds again.
If I get my way, Suzanne will alter her meds logistics, so the AM and PM meds are no longer in the same pill organizer or even in the same room. You live, you learn. Suzanne’s meds incident is now firmly in the past—no harm, no foul—and we find it merely an amusing anecdote from the little “book” we’re living, which we like to call THE CHRONICLES O’ HELANNE (“Helanne” is our self-designated “famous couple name,” like Bennifer or Brangelina). Suzanne’s meds faux pas was simply a could-have-been-worse occurrence neither one of us wishes to be part of again. You think I’m a circus to live with? Clearly, living with Suzanne is never boring either. I mean—she made an entertaining not-drunk drunk without even being conscious she was putting on a show. And it was a riot.
FYI When I see a cap such as this, I expect to see a pompom. A hat of this ilk is incomplete without the jaunty flair of a poof ball. A pompom is this hat’s punctuation mark.
Ties o’ the Day are all over the newest puzzle in our collection. Suzanne’s niece, Rachel, gifted the puzzle to me recently. Surprise gifts out of nowhere are important. It is always nice to be reminded someone knows exactly who you are and what you are all about. It is reassuring to know you are well regarded by a few folks in this non-stop, crazy life. Rachel knows I’m ties. I am extra amazed that she took the time to find me this puzzle treasure right now because she has been busy preparing for the birth of her third kid—which finally came to pass last night. Here he is, starring in his first TIE O’ THE DAY appearance—the one, the only, the handsome, the swaddled: Zeke. Zeke is the eagerly anticipated baby brother to Liam and Lukas. I have already picked out a bow tie and necktie with which to welcome Zeke to the planet. They are gift-wrapped with a tube of Boudreaux’s Butt Paste. Zeke will find these items come in plenty handy in this world. It is always a plus to present oneself fashionably, as well as to be free from diaper rash. 👔
For nearly well over a year, I kept my head hairs shaved to a field of mere stubble. A few months ago, I decided it was time to grow out my head fur again—to have my head go for a more hirsute look. The growing season of my head hairs has been as shapeless and tedious as I expected. Recently, I realized my hairs are currently at what I term “Walken-length,” as in Christopher Walken. When one’s hairs are at Walken-length, it is a sure sign from the gods: it is time for me and my pink Bow Tie o’ the Day to schedule a visit to my hair magician, Miss Tiffany. 🤡
Last night Suzanne and I ventured to The Eccles Theater in Salt Lake City, for a performance of AIN’T TOO PROUD: THE LIFE AND TIMES OF THE TEMPTATIONS. It’s a Broadway musical not BY the Motown group, but ABOUT the group. If you’re too old to remember The Temptations, or if you’re too young to have a clue about the group, do yourself a favor and visit YouTube to watch a video or two of their classy synchronized dance moves which accompanied their complex vocals. The Temptations’ choreography was somehow simple but extravagant at the same time. The group’s tight moves were sweetly innocent, while simultaneously being slickly seductive. Their smooth moves were the equivalent of crushed velvet. The performances in this particular production at The Eccles stood up well to what can be seen in existing footage of the real shows. There are also the iconic songs themselves, like “My Girl,” “Just My Imagination,” and “Papa Was A Rollin’ Stone.” As always, my fave Temptations songs are the most desolate, bleakest songs in their catalog—like one of their lesser known hits, “I Wish It Would Rain.”
I used the night out as a chance to finally wear my silver floppy Bow Tie ‘o the Day for the first time. I won’t mention my lapel pin, although I stand by its sentiment.😏 I even wore a new jacket to last night’s show. Suzanne didn’t seem to like it though. It is cut differently than any other jacket in my closet, and the fabric’s brown plaid pattern is more traditional than what I usually cover myself with. After Suzanne first observed me in my jacket, all she kept saying was, “It’s not like what you wear. It’s not like what you wear.”—over and over again. It was as if the very sight of me in my differently-fangled jacket had stunned Suzanne into a mystical fog of confusion and repetition. Personally, my new jacket looks kind of Sherlock Holmes-y to me. Very Heathcliff-esque, if you know what I mean. I wore a splashy golf cap to balance things out.🕵️♀️🔍
I woke up in a foul mood this morning. I don’t know why. Nothing’s wrong. I’m simply in a grouchy, prickly mood. It’s a good thing there’s nowhere I’m scheduled to be today, so I can busy myself at home—where I can freely be grouchy and grumpy and quick to ignite at myself. I am not a believer in pretending to feel any other way than how I feel, even if it’s not the best feeling. I believe it’s mentally healthy to let yourself feel a not-so-good feeling, sit with it for a while, work through it, and then kick it the heck out of your orbit and move on. So, this morning, TIE O’ THE DAY offers up a cornucopia of funny-true, serious-true memes for your brain—and mine—to consume. If all goes as it usually does when I wake up grouchy, the grouchiness will dissipate in a few hours, and I can write an original tie-bearing post this afternoon. Meanwhile, chew on these memes. There is something for everyone.
This hand-made Christmas stocking honoring Mom’s mom—Martha Lovell Anderson— was the last bit of holiday decor to be put away this year. Before I put it in a decoration bin, I easily turned it into Tie o’ the Day for a selfie by attaching it to my shirt with nothing more than a handy purple paperclip. The stocking, of course, has a December-y story.
When my oldest sister, BT/Mercedes, got hitched to Kent/Nuk in mid-December of 1967, Grandma Martha gifted the young couple two of her always-coveted, Martha-made quilts. One quilt was made using a log cabin pattern, and the other one used a double wedding ring pattern. Grandma also gave BT the direct order to use the quilts, not just keep them pristine on a shelf—to only be admired or used sparingly throughout their marriage. Use the quilts, BT and Nuk did for decades—until the blankets could no longer safely be washed without disintegrating. BT’s a creative gal, so she repurposed what was left of the two quilts by turning them into mantel-ready Christmas stockings which honored Grandma after her death. BT/Mercedes managed to make 15 of these socks out of the quilts’ remains—enough to give Mom and each of her sisters one; one for each of BT’s kids; as well as one for BT/Mercedes, me and the rest of our siblings. Amazing, isn’t it? By the way, three weeks ago, Betty and Kent celebrated their 55th wedding anniversary. That’s amazing, too. 👏🏻🙌👰🤵
But wait! There’s more! New Year’s Eve is always a double celebration in our family because it is also Nuk’s birthday. The Birthday Boy—who still wears his original Birthday Suit—turned 77 last week. But who’s counting?! 🎂🍾🎉